Pumpkin
by AmazingSoulWeasel
Summary: A retelling of the Fable II story from the POV of Evil!Sparrow's husband. YAOI. Male Sparrow x OC
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Fable or any of the canon characters. James, however, is all mine.

Well, this would be my first fanfic in a looong time. Original fiction is my one true love, you see, but Fable is simply impossible to resist. So yeah.

Basically, this story will follow the main quest line, but it'll be told from the point of view of young James here, and OC of mine. Some parts may be told from Sparrow's point of view for clarity's sake. Note: Sparrow is evil and James is a spoilt little bugger. I'll try to make them as lovable as possible though. X3

Warnings: This fic will contain yaoi (boyxboy), mild sex scenes and swearing. Because sometimes nice words just won't suffice.

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**Chapter One**

"Father's gone mad, hasn't he?"

James Hamilton stood at the open gate to the gypsy camp by his mother, eyeing the caravan his father had just vanished into. It was fancier than the other caravans, but not by much. In fact, other than the mild decorations that adorned its walls, the only thing that set it apart from the rest was the fact that it had a _door_.

James decided he hated this place.

His mother didn't reply but when he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye he saw he twirling a strand of hair around her fingers, releasing it, and then twirling it again at worryingly fast speeds. He rolled his eyes slightly and folded his arms across his chest, glancing around in disgust.

The Hamilton family were rich by inheritance and none of them truly knew what it was to work. Laura Hamilton, James's mother, would often arrange fetes with the other upper class ladies in Bowerstone to raise money for some such thing or another but really all she ever did was call in a few favours and boss people around until she got what she wanted.

Edmund Hamilton wasn't much better, either. When he wasn't pretending at being some high flying real estate mogul he would go off on 'business trips'. James, courtesy of his own little circle of contacts, knew that these business trips were actually only covers for his father to go and indulge his twisted little fetishes at the Temple of Shadows.

And then there was James. At the age of sixteen he was possibly the vainest young man in all of Bowerstone. He knew he wasn't especially clever, nor did he have the most dazzling personality but he had his looks and for now they were more than enough to see him through. And at least he was sharp enough to spot the lecherous stares certain upper class men gave him. As far as he was concerned, flirting and blackmail were a perfectly legitimate form of business.

Of course, he'd never gone so far as to let any of them... touch him inappropriately. He wasn't a child to be taken advantage of, nor was he a slut. Besides, he had a reputation to uphold.

And it was for the sake of his reputation that James was so very agitated about being in a _gypsy camp_ of all places. He scowled at a little girl as she ran past him, drawing a foot back in case she stepped too close and dirtied his incredibly expensive shoes.

"I swear if he's not out of there in the next thirty seconds, I'm going in there and I'll drag out him by his ear, respect for parents be damned." He spat out, rubbing a hand along his arm uneasily.

"No, no, you can't!" Laura gasped, grabbing his arm. "James, he's in there talking to a fortune teller... If you make her angry she might curse you!"

James raised an eyebrow at his mother and gently shrugged her off. "You don't believe all that nonsense, do you?" He gestured at the caravan. "She's just some crazy old bat who likes to throw cards around and pretend she can see the future. She's in there right now, playing up on father's fear of those damnable shadows. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've had enough of wallowing in this... this _cess pit_. I'm going to get him."

Laura made a few more ditch pleas for James to stay with her, but she was too afraid of the fortune teller to follow him, and James marched off too fast for her to hold him back. He trotted up the steps to the caravan door and shoved it open noisily.

"Father, we're-" He didn't get much further than that as the sight that greeted him shocked him into silence.

His father, a man he was so used to being proud and haughty, was hunched over a small table at the back of the caravan opposite a woman in a red hood. He was trembling from head to foot and whimpering in fear. The fortune teller was sitting upright watching him - no, not watching. At the sound of James's entrance she turned towards him slightly and he caught the briefest of glimpses of blinded eyes. His father didn't even react to James's sudden appearance.

"What's going on?" James growled quietly once he'd recovered enough to form proper, coherent thoughts. "What's wrong with him?"

The gypsy turned towards him again. "Sparrow, will you see to young James? The distraction is not helping."

There was a sound to James's right and he glanced towards it, startled. A dark shape detached itself from the wall there and moved into the light filtering in around James's body. It was another teenage boy, perhaps a year or two older than he was. He was slightly taller and he peered down at James with an expression of curious distaste. James only had a moment to feel utterly offended at being looked down upon by this nobody when - had the woman called him Sparrow? - placed a hand on his shoulder and nudged him out of the door, none too gently.

James spun on his heel quickly to avoid falling down the stairs backwards and stepped down to the ground. Sparrow followed him down, closing the door of the caravan behind him. James scowled and rounded on the gypsy boy.

"Do you know who I am? No, I don't suppose you do, being all the way out here in the middle of nowhere." He growled, looking around unhappily. "I demand to know what's going on in there. Tell me."

Now, James had thought he had sounded terribly intimidating right then. He knew that the pathetic, fawning townspeople in Bowerstone were quick to give him what he wanted when he used that particular tone. So he wasn't precisely prepared for Sparrow's sudden smirk.

"Yeh used to getting' yer own way, ain't ya?" He asked, folding his arms across his chest and eyeing James up and down. "Right spoiled little brat, I bet."

James sputtered and recoiled in shock, his father's predicament momentarily forgotten. "I- I beg your pardon?!" He snarled, trying and failing to regain his composure. How dare this filthy little peasant speak to him in such a way?

"Yeh heard me." Sparrow shot back, his little smirk growing slowly into a full blown grin of malevolence. "Bet yeh so wrapped up in yer own little self that yer not even really worried about yer dad. Yeh just want to know if yeh'll get his money when he kicks it."

Sparrow's head snapped to the side when James slapped him. Being as posh and well mannered as he was, James had never slapped anyone before and he stared at his hand in shock for a moment where it hovered slightly outstretched in front of him. Just as he was about to pull it back though, Sparrow's hand darted up and grabbed his wrist.

"Heh, fiery, ain't ya?" He asked, pulling on James's wrist and forcing him to take a few steps forward. His voice, James noted, was just a touch huskier, his vindictive smile a few watts brighter. He glanced sideways at James's hand. His palm, as soft and sensitive as a baby's thanks to the fact he had never done a day's work in his life, was reddening slightly. "Looks like yeh hurt yerself more'n yeh hurt me."

James opened his mouth to deliver a suitably scathing reply but never got the chance. Before he'd even begun to form the words in his mind, Sparrow yank on his arm, causing him to stumble forwards the last few steps -- straight into a torrid kiss.

Sparrow tightened his grip on James's wrist, preventing the weaker boy from retreating and placed a hand on the back of his head, gripping the wavy blonde hair roughly to stop him pulling his head back.

On his part, James was frozen in surprise and mortification. It was safe to say that this - _this _- had never happened to him before. His shell shocked mind only jerked out of its terrified stupor when Sparrow contentedly poked his tongue into his still open mouth. James gave a strangled little noise of shock and tried to pull away, but Sparrow's twin grips on him made it impossible. Then he tried hitting and scratching at Sparrow's face and neck with his free hand, but thanks to his habit of keeping his nails perfectly trimmed, any damage he did was minimal and certainly not enough to make Sparrow stop.

Finally he resorted to kicking Sparrow, but once again found himself thwarted. His incredibly expensive shoes that he'd been so worried about getting dirty were made of the softest possible leather money could buy and were therefore worse than useless. He may has well have been barefoot.

Thankfully, Sparrow saw fit to release him after no more than a few moments. When he loosened his grip on James, the little rich boy jerked away from him, stumbling backwards and slamming into a tree. He stood there leaning against it for support and stared at Sparrow with a mixture of indignation and horror on his face. Sparrow just smirked and rubbed absently at the pale red welts on his neck where James had scratched him.

"You-" James started weakly, "You... you- how... how dare you..?" He said, aiming for anger and missing spectacularly.

Sparrow licked his lips and gave a little chuckle. "Yeh taste like pumpkin." He murmured, the husky tone of his voice fading now. The corner's of his mouth twitched slightly and for a moment he almost looked like he was smiling honestly, but the expression faded as quickly as it came. James scowled faintly; fishing for a retort but once again was interrupted before he could find one.

"Eww..." A childish voice said from beside them, almost causing James to fall over in panic. Three small children were standing in the path not far from them. A little girl giggled. "You kissed him! That's icky!" She informed them grandly before laughing some more and running away.

James's face burned with indignation and he pushed himself away from the tree. Not looking at Sparrow, he stormed back up to the fortune teller's caravan, stomping up the steps and slammed the door open again. The fortune teller turned his way again, an unreadable expression on her face. James's father looked up too. He was calmer now, but still seemed disturbed.

"Father, get up. We're leaving." James said, crossing the small space to the side of the table and grabbing his father's arm. Edmund looked vaguely annoyed at how brazen his son was acting all of a sudden, but was apparently too distressed to do much other than scowl at him slightly.

After a little coaxing and some none to gentle tugging, James got his father upright and out of the caravan. Behind him he heard the woman stand up and follow them as they stepped outside and turned to look up at her. She had stopped in the doorway of the caravan. Sparrow was leaning against the side of the small structure, apparently entirely uninterested in the conversation now.

"Do we owe you any more money?" James asked, his tone clipped. The fortune teller shook her head.

"Your father already paid in advance." She bowed her head slightly. "Indeed, in situations like these, I would accept nothing less." And on that note, she turned and drifted back into the darkness of the caravan.

Helpless not to, James glanced at Sparrow. The older boy simply smirked smugly at him before follow the fortune teller back into the caravan and closing the doors behind him.

Infuriated and embarrassed, James grabbed his father's arm and tugged him towards the gates of the gypsy camp where his mother was waiting. As they approached, he looked up to see her giving him a deeply shell shocked look and inwardly winced. Brilliant. She'd seen everything.

What a bloody fabulous day.

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R&R if you feel like it.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Fable 2, but you already know this so this will be the last time I put this in a chapter. You don't need to read it and I don't see the point of repeating myself...

Thank you for the reviews! They make me verily happy. X3

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**Chapter Two**

For the next few days after the incident at the gypsy camp, James seemed to be incapable of doing anything other than fume over Sparrow's audacity. He spent hours sulking at home, snapping at his mother if she so much as walked too loudly near him. He declined offers to go to Fairfax Gardens with his coterie for fear they would ask him what had caused his vile mood. He even missed a hat sale. A hat sale! It would be safe to say this didn't improve his temperament any.

Fortunately, or rather, unfortunately considering the circumstances, events transpired to distract him from the gypsy boy. Ever since they had returned home to Bowerstone, his father's behavior had worsened.

"He doesn't come to bed at night, anymore." Laura had told James one evening when he had been feeling a little less hostile and had allowed her to sit with him. "He stares out of the window all night, or goes and sits downstairs by the fire. I don't think he sleeps."

That wasn't all, either. Roughly a week after the visit to the gypsy camp, James was feeling sociable enough to do some shopping - a pass time he'd always found to be therapeutic. He hadn't had any money on him at the time so he'd made his way to the Bank of Bowerstone were his family held an account, fully intending to draw out enough gold to buy at least three new outfits and a ridiculously expensive lunch. He felt he deserved it after the foul week he'd had.

However, upon arriving at the bank he'd been informed rather grandly by the snooty clerk that his father had recently closed the account to everyone but himself, and that she was very sorry but James was not authorized to withdraw any gold at that time. She'd seemed awfully pleased about this.

"Father!" James snarled as soon as he'd returned home. "Where is he?"

Laura looked up in surprise from where she sat in front of the fire, sewing, then glanced at the ceiling. James followed her gaze. There was a moment of silence then the floorboards upstairs creaked towards the staircase. A moment later Edmund descended, looking slightly more like his usual dignified self, but there was still something off about him. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and glared at James.

"You'll not take that tone with me, boy." Edmund growled, eyeing his son angrily. "I may be having some... difficulties at the moment, but I'm still your father and you will _show me respect_. Are we clear?"

James sniffed disdainfully. "You locked mother and me out of the account. Tell me why."

Between them, still sitting beside the fire, Laura gasped and turned her gaze on Edmund. She didn't say anything though. James hadn't expected her to. She was far too weak willed for her own good.

Edmund lowered his head slightly, his brow furrowing further. "That is none of your business." He replied. His tone was dangerous, a warning, but James didn't heed it.

"Like hell it isn't my business." James snapped. "That's my inheritance you've got locked away in there, and I want to know what you're doing with it."

Edmund snorted and crossed the room a few small strides. "Your inheritance?" He repeated, stopping a mere foot from James and leaning forward, so that their noses almost touched. "That could easily change, James. I suggest you watch your tongue."

"Or you'll do what?" James purred, his tone suddenly growing cocky. "Sacrifice me to the Shadows? I've heard they give out bonuses for family-"

He yelped as Edmund struck him with the back of his hand, his head snapping to the side. It wasn't the first time James had been hit as a punishment for his insolence but it had certainly never been so painful in the past. He bit back a whimper of pain, his fist clenching at his sides and kept his head turned away. Had he finally over stepped the mark?

Laura finally found her backbone at this and hurried to stand between her husband and her son. "Edmund, please!" She cried, placing one hand on his chest and the other on James's shoulder, pushing him back.

Edmund ignored her and reached out to grab James's chin, jerking his head around to face him. James kept his eyes averted for a moment, then raised them to meet his father's gaze defiantly.

"Don't you _ever_ mention them in this house again, do you understand?" Edmund snarled through gritted teeth. "If I ever hear their name spoken under this roof, I will disown you without a second thought. You will lose everything. Your inheritance, your name, _everything_. _You will be nobody_."

James jerked his head out of his father's painfully tight grip and took a step back. "You're mad." He replied quietly, his mood once again sober. "I don't know what you've done, but if mother and I get caught up in this you can keep your money. Some things I can't forgive you for."

---

He hadn't waited around to hear his father's response to that. Instead he'd fled to Bowerstone Market. Hopefully, by the time he dared to return home his mother would have calmed his father down enough that he wouldn't be shot on sight. Just to be on the safe side though, he wasn't going back until the next day. He'd rent a bed at the Cow and Corset. It wasn't such a bad little place, despite the riffraff it typically served.

Idling down the road at approximately the speed of a snail, James pondered what he was supposed to do with himself for the rest of the day. He only had enough money on him to rent a bed, not even enough to buy a meager lump of Fairfax Delight. He couldn't even afford Fairfax Delight! The very thought made his skin crawl.

He stepped into the market square proper and fell to a stop, listening to the typical town noises. To his left he could hear the sound of horses tromping up the road to the coach house by the city gates. He could hear the stall vendors shouting out about their wares. To his right, he could hear the rhythmic metallic beating of the blacksmith's workshop.

James froze, eyeing the blacksmith's building stealthily. After a moment's internal struggle with himself, he wandered towards the noise. A wooden beam at the front of the shop proved to be the perfect place to lean casually and watch the current blacksmith's apprentice work.

Now, James would never have admitted it to anyone, because he _certainly_ wasn't interested in rough trade, but he did rather enjoy watching sweaty, muscular, _shirtless_ men beating living hell out of weapons. There was simply something terribly exotic about watching lower class men work for a living.

This one was new by the looks of it. At least, James didn't recall having ever seen him before. He wasn't as powerfully built as the master blacksmith who was standing off to the side watching him, but he was still bigger than James. His hair was long, probably down to the bottom of his shoulder blades when he stood up straight and dark brown. For the moment it was loose, obscuring his face, but James didn't mind so much. He was too busy admiring the rest of the view. Covertly, of course.

The apprentice was topless, a must considering the hot, bubbling forge not far away from him, the red glow from the furnace casting a strange, warm hue over his skin. His torso was slick with sweat, making him glisten in the light. His muscles, though not particularly prominent yet, still shifted in an attractive way. Occasionally he would grunt with the effort of striking the metal just right. James shifted and bit his lower lip, forcing himself to look away for a moment lest he embarrass himself in public.

There was a thunk and hiss as the apprentice tossed the finished blade into the vat of water beside him, a cloud of steam billowing upwards. James glanced back at the sound and watched as the apprentice placed the hammer down for a moment to tie back his hair. James watched, utterly fascinated as the stranger's stomach and chest was fully exposed for a moment, his gaze inadvertently following the little trail of dark hair just above the waistband of his trousers. They weren't very nice trousers, but James decided he could probably forgive the apprentice that little transgression considering the delightful show he'd put on so far-

No. No, no, no, no, no.

_No._

It was Sparrow. That foul, insolent, filthy, arrogant bastard of a gypsy.

James stood frozen, staring at Sparrow's suddenly unhidden face. It was definitely Sparrow. How could James possibly forget that face, that smug, malicious little _grin_. Sniffing angrily, he gave Sparrow another once over. Hmph. Look at him, he thought. No muscles to be seen anywhere. It was positively pathetic. And all that sweat. He must have a problem with his glands. And those trousers were simply _vile_.

Turning swiftly on his heel, James marched away, trying not to look too flustered and probably failing. Damn his pale skin anyway. He hurried up Posh Street towards Fairfax Gardens. He would spend his day there and only return to Bowerstone Market to rent his room for the night. After all, why would a filthy, good for nothing gypsy like Sparrow show his face in the Gardens?

---

As it turned out, for once, James was lucky. Sparrow didn't turn up in the Gardens and he enjoyed a nice, relaxing day among people of his own class. Well, okay. Perhaps they weren't quite his class. These 'upper class' twits were utter fools, and James had long since decided he wouldn't be seen dead wearing that foul white make up or those disturbing hairstyles. He was quite content with his perfect little blonde curls, thank you kindly.

As evening began to draw in, James headed back towards the Cow and Corset. He was tired, hungry and unhappy. Still, if he did manage to get to sleep in one of those 'beds' at least it wouldn't bother him so much. As soon as he woke up he'd head home, make sad eyes at his mother and eat until he couldn't move.

He made his way through the darkening streets, passing under the warm puddles of light from the street lamps and finally stepped into the tavern. It was warm and smelled like food and James's stomach snarled angrily at being deprived. He grimaced and patted it gently then weaved his way between the tables over to the bar.

The landlord looked up as he approached; placing down the cup he was cleaning for a moment. James suspected the man could probably smell money from a mile off. Well. Too bad for him, since James had nothing to spend.

"What can I do for you, young sir?" The landlord asked, dipping his head in a mockery of a bow.

"I'd like to rent a room for the night." James replied wearily, already reaching for his small purse.

"Ah," The landlord winced politely. "I'm afraid I just rented out my second room a few minutes ago. Terribly sorry."

James paused with his hand hovering over his money bag, a look of absolute disbelief etched across his features. "I beg your pardon," He said, in a dangerously low tone, "but you did what?"

The landlord quickly nodded past James's shoulder at one of the tables behind him. "I gave it to him. You know, if you want to negotiate."

James turned to see who the landlord had indicated and very nearly spat in rage. It was him. _Again_. Sparrow was sitting at one of the tables up the steps behind him. No, not sitting, _sprawling_. He sat in the chair, one arm slung over the back of it, his legs stretched out like he own the place. He was watching James and when their eyes met he lifted his tankard, winked and took a swig.

The smirk never once left his face.

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Is it wrong that James's hatred of Sparrow amuses me so? O.o

R&R if you feel like it.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for the reviews again. X3

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**Chapter Three**

The landlord forgotten, James stalked past the other tables and up the small flight of steps. He halted in front of Sparrow's table, twitching in anger, his mouth gaping as he tried to find the words to express just how put up on he was at this point in time. Sparrow watched him over the rim of his mug, his eyes sparkling with that same malicious light that accompanied his smirk.

"You." James finally spat out and stopped there, not quite sure where to go next. "_You!_" He said again, when nothing new came to him.

Sparrow lowered the tankard to the table, setting it down with a soft clunk. "A'right Pumpkin?" He asked, flashing James a wicked smile.

"Don't call me that!" James snapped, then glanced around at the other people in the pub and forced himself to lower his voice. "I _need_ that room." He finally growled, flexing his hands agitatedly. Sparrow's gaze flickered down to them, then back up to his face.

"That's tough luck then, innit?" Sparrow replied, brushing his fingertips along the surface of the table and then inspecting them for dust. James thought that was wildly ironic, all things considered. Sparrow continued to inspect his fingertips a little longer while James fumed silently beside him, then rubbed the pads together to be rid of whatever had been there and turned to James again. "What'll yeh give us for it?"

"I'll not give you anything." James immediately snapped, before catching himself and sighing. He reached up to rub the creases from his brow. "I mean… how much did you pay for the room?"

"Thirty-six gold pieces." Sparrow replied offhandedly, taking up the tankard again and tossing off the last of his drink. James didn't know what it was, and from the smell of it he was glad not to.

He opened his purse again and plucked out the number Sparrow had just told him. He placed the coins down on the table top and stared at the gypsy expectantly. "Well?" He said when Sparrow didn't take the money or say anything to explain himself.

"I want double that, for me trouble." Sparrow said, looking up at James with a contentedly cunning smile.

James sputtered and snatched his money up again. Seventy-two gold coins. He didn't _have_ that much on him, and even if he did, why would he waste it on this? "I can't afford that." He told Sparrow through gritted teeth, his hand shaking slightly from clutching the money bag so tight. The words left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Sparrow's eyebrows rose in obvious amusement and he leaned forward, resting one arm on the table. "Oh aye? Well, if yeh can't afford the room why don't yeh just go home?"

"That's none of your business." James replied darkly. "If you won't give me your room, I'll just go find out who has the other one and buy his." He turned on his heel and marched straight back to the landlord who was doing a remarkably bad job of pretending not to watch them.

"Won't do yeh any good." Sparrow called after him, but made no effort to explain further.

"Who has the other room?" James demanded before he had even reached the counter. The landlord blinked at him for a moment then shook his head.

"No one, young sir. The latest shipment was a bit… ah, bigger than I'd been expecting. I'm using the other room as temporary storage, I'm afraid."

James didn't say anything to that, instead simply staring at the man disbelievingly. "That's just great." He finally muttered, drumming his fingers on the counter hard enough to show his anger. "That's just bloody brilliant." He sighed out a heavy breath and tapped the bar once. "Fine." He growled. "I'll have a portentous stout. If I have to go home to that bastard, I want to be blind drunk first."

"Right away, sir."

"So that's it." Sparrow piped up from behind him as the landlord went to get his drink. James jumped and clenched his jaw to keep from snapping at him. "Yer avoidin' someone at home?"

"That," James said very pointedly not looking at Sparrow, "is none of your business, to be quite frank." The landlord returned with his drink and James handed over his money. He picked up the bottle daintily by the neck, bit the cork and yanked it out with his teeth. He didn't miss the little sound of approval Sparrow made in the back of his throat at this and shot him a withering glare.

Sparrow ordered another drink and leaned on the bar, watching James intently. His eyes were narrowed thoughtfully. James returned the gaze askance for a moment, before turning his back on Sparrow slightly and taking a mouthful of the vile tasting drink, reminding himself why he only ever drank when he was in a bad mood.

There was a shifting sound behind him and James jumped when a hand graced his hip. "Yer not gonna to ignore me, are yeh?" Sparrow murmured, right in his ear. The question was posed innocently enough but there was an underlying threat that made James instinctively turn to face him. Perhaps turning his back on a scoundrel like this wasn't such a smart move after all. "Tha's better."

"Your drink." The landlord said, popping up out of nowhere to place the refilled tankard on the counter next to Sparrow. He turned away from James after a moment and gave the man his money with a nod of thanks.

"So," Sparrow said casually, picking up his drink and taking a mouthful, "does yeh not wantin' to go home have anythin' to do with yer dad?"

James sniffed and sipped his drink. "I thought I said that's none of your business."

"Yeah, yeh did. Doesn't mean I was payin' any attention though." He purred before riding straight over James's indignant retort. "So's he still havin' problems?"

James scowled at Sparrow, his jaw set rigidly. Who did Sparrow think he was? Prying into his private business like this, why he should call the guards. Report him for harassment. "I don't know." He finally spat out, looking away from Sparrow. "He doesn't tell _me_ anything." A thought occurred to him; though he was loathe to follow it up. However, he did want information regarding his father's situation and if it was the only way…

With a sigh he turned to Sparrow. "Did that fortune teller woman say anything to you about it?" He asked, trying his hardest to keep the plea out of his voice and come across as casual. Judging by the look on Sparrow's face, he failed.

"Theresa? She might have. Nothin' that yeh probably don't already know though."

"Tell me anyway." James said immediately, taking a small step closer to Sparrow.

Sparrow glanced down at the space between them, raising an eyebrow, before shrugging nonchalantly. "She told me that he's gotten 'imself in trouble with the Shadows. Debt or summit like that."

"Debt…" James repeated quietly to himself, gnawing on his thumbnail thoughtfully. He took another long drink. "Now I think I understand…"

"Understand what?" Sparrow asked.

James snapped out of his thoughtful daze and shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing, I was just thinking aloud."

Sparrow made a small, incredulous noise but didn't push it this time. "So, what yeh gonna do tonight then?" He said as he inspected his drink curiously. "Yeh gonna go home or are yeh gonna try'n find a way to into me bed again?" He grinned lecherously down at his mug.

Sputtering, James put down his bottle and rounded on Sparrow. "I was not trying to get into your bed!" He squawked, piqued. Another nearby punter gave him an odd look and he flushed a spectacular shade of red, falling silent.

"Shame that." Sparrow replied, leaning his hip against the counter and turning that lewd smirk on James. "Yeh'd be mor'n welcome."

"I'm not a slut. I have a reputation to uphold." James hissed back, even though his mind had jumped involuntarily to the scene at the blacksmith's shop earlier that day. That was hardly his fault, however. He was sixteen years old after all. Of course he'd be… curious about such things. But that was all it was! Curiosity.

Sparrow's lewd grin twisted into something more wicked at that. "Aw, Pumpkin. I never said nowt about sex."

James wasn't sure what he was more shocked by. Sparrow's blunt talk – he could have at least used a nice euphemism and spared James's little virgin mind – or the fact that he had just walked into a horrible trap. "I… I-I didn't…" He stammered, searching frantically for a way out. "I didn't mean-"

"Right filthy minded little bugger, ain't ya?" Sparrow purred, rolling straight over James's protests. Unsurprisingly, he didn't sound disapproving about this at all. He reached out and placed one hand on James's waist, squeezing his handful suggestively. James uttered a single, reflexive squeak and squirmed out of Sparrow's grasp.

"I have to go…" He said quickly in a choked voice. He dashed off the last of his drink – waste not, want not and all that – and nodded at Sparrow, refusing to meet his eyes. That was the most of a goodbye he gave before he hurried out of the Cow and Corset.

Behind him, he heard Sparrow laughing.

It was cold outside and as soon as he stepped out of the building, James found himself missing the warmth of the large fireplace in there. Never-the-less though, he didn't dare go back in. Not with Sparrow and his conversational pitfalls lying in wait inside.

As he set off across the square towards Old Town, he heard a muffled woof behind him. He paused, frowning, and glanced back only to find himself face to face to face with a brown dog. The two of them stood staring at one another for a moment in apparent amazement, before James shook his head and started off again.

A second woof, closer this time, told him he'd been followed. He stopped and turned to look at the dog, folding his arms around himself and stamping his feet. "What do you want?" He asked, glowering halfheartedly at the strange creature. It stared at him a moment longer before closing the distance between them and plopping itself down at James's feet.

James sighed and rolled his eyes, crouching beside it. "Alright, fine." He petted the dog's head, grimacing when it opened its mouth and started panting, its tongue lolling out of one side. "Who do you belong to?" He murmured, running his fingers along the battered collar until they touched upon a tag. He tilted it until it caught the light of a nearby street lamp. There was only one word etched into the metal disk: Pumpkin.

"That's your name, is it?" James asked, dropping the tag and giving the dog one final scratch behind the ears. "Well, I have to go now, so go back to your owner, alright?" He straightened up and made shooing gestures at the dog until it got the message and bounded off towards the Cow and Corset again. James turned and headed off up the side road.

He didn't get more than three paces before a ruckus erupted from the direction of the pub, peppered with the occasional excited bark. James closed his eyes and smiled as he left the market.

---

"James! Oh, there you are… I was so _worried_!"

"I'm fine, mother." James replied wearily, trying to bat his mother away as she fussed over him. "I just want to go to bed."

Laura sighed and nodded, starting to step away from him when suddenly she sniffed. Her eyes narrowed. "Hang on." She said, grabbing his arm. "You smell like alcohol. Oh, _Jamie_, you know you're not old enough to drink."

James tore a hand through his hair and groaned. "Mother, I'm old enough to be served, so I'm old enough to drink, now _please_. Can I go to bed?" He gave his mother a pleading look but she didn't seem ready to let it drop. "I only had one bottle."

She didn't seem ready to drop the subject still, but eventually she caved, unable to deny her baby boy anything for long. "Alright, but don't think I'm done with you yet." She said, petting his hair affectionately. "Sleep well, dear."

"Goodnight mother."

He trudged up the stairs and then up the ladder to the attic. He had once slept on the same floor as his parents, but with the onset of puberty certain embarrassing situations had led him to throw very dramatic tantrums until they agreed to move his things into the attic. Now he had a desk, a bookshelf, a wardrobe and a bed up here. It was very cozy.

He undressed and slipped into a comfortable white nightshirt that came down to his ankles and padded over to his bed beneath the window. He slid under the thick, feather filled quilt and sighed contentedly, snuggling against his pillow, more than ready to fall asleep.

But something was bothering him. Something about that dog. Suddenly it occurred to him.

"_A'right Pumpkin?"_ Sparrow asked again in James's mind.

Pumpkin was the name etched on the dog's name tag.

James sat bolt upright in bed, practically spitting in fury. "He named me after his _dog_?!"

* * *

Le Gaspe! How rude of him. Tsk tsk, Sparrow.

R&R if you feel like it.


	4. Chapter 4

Omg, guess what's in this chapter?

PLOT! O.o

* * *

**Chapter Four**

For the next few days, James had made a point of avoiding Bowerstone Market for fear of running into Sparrow there again. He didn't know what business the gypsy had there nor did he know how long it would keep him in town. It hardly mattered though. His father didn't spend much time in the house anymore so James and his mother didn't have to worry over much about the volatile temper he had these days.

One morning James went downstairs to take tea with Laura at noon. He barely set foot on the floor before he froze, his eyes locked on his father's face. Edmund, on his part, raised his cup and took a sip, never taking his gaze off James.

"What are you doing here?" James finally spat out, trying to sound haughty rather than surprised.

"It's my house, James." Edmund replied darkly, lowering his cup to the table and crossing his arms across his chest. "I think I'm more than entitled to be here."

Laura came scampering over from the stove with the kettle freshly boiled. "I don't think that's what he meant, dear..." She said quietly in a meek attempt to mollify the growing tempers in the room. "Here, James, why don't you join us both for tea?"

James eyed the cup she was filling for him then let his gaze dart back to his father. He didn't want to appear weak in front of Edmund, nor did he want to stay and possibly cause more arguments. However, as usual, his pride won out over his common sense. He settled gingerly into the seat opposite his father and stared vaguely at the wall, refusing to meet the other man's gaze.

"Here you are." Laura said in a hopeful little voice, pushing the cup in front of James and taking a seat between the two men. James nodded at her curtly and lifted his cup, taking a small sip. "So!" Laura chirped, clasping her hands together on the table in front of her. "What... what are you planning to do with yourselves today?"

James shrugged casually, inspecting his nails. "I suppose I'll do the same as I do every day. Nothing." He shot a pointed glance at his father. "It's not like I can go out with my friends when I don't have the money to afford even lunch. I'd be a laughing stock." He said it all in a perfectly idle tone, but never the less Edmund still bristled, just as he'd known he would. "What about you father? What will you be doing today?"

Edmund huffed and picked up his tea again. "Nothing of interest to you, I assure you."

"Oh, on the contrary," James replied immediately, "I am very interested in what you are doing these days." He rested his elbows on the table and propped his chin up on his interlaced fingers. "Tell me father, where have you been disappearing off to these past few days?"

"James..." Laura pleaded quietly.

A little exasperated sigh escaped Edmund's lips and he tented a hand over his eyes. "James, what have I told you about your insolence James? It's not doing you any favours. I suggest you start behaving yourself before-"

"Before what?!" James snapped, kicking back his chair and standing up, slamming his hands down on the tabletop and making his palms sting. "Perhaps you are just trying to protect us from whatever trouble you've gotten yourself in, but how am _I_ supposed to know that?" Edmund didn't say anything in reply. Instead he merely sat there staring at his son, so James barrelled on. "What do you think will happen if something happens to you? I'm sixteen now. Mother isn't the one who'll be expected to deal with this. Just look at her! She can barely prepare lunch without someone there to back her up-"

"Show your mother some respect!"

"I _do_!" James snarled. "I do show her respect, but you know as well as I do that what I say is true. She can't deal with whatever mess you're in, so I'm the one who'll have to. Can you blame me for wanting to know what is going on?"

Edmund slammed his hands down on the table, much the same way James had. He thrust himself up from his seat and stepped around the table, quicker than James would have given him credit for. Before James could react, Edmund's hand latched onto his throat and he was slammed into the wall hard enough to make him cough in pain and shock.

"_That_ is _quite enough_, young man." His father said in a scarily calm voice. James coughed again and whimpered in a surprise and fear, but really, what more had he expected from a man who tortured and killed as a hobby? Vaguely he registered his mother's desperate pleas for Edmund to stop, but Edmund ignored her completely. "You are treading a _very_ thin line."

James squirmed dragging his father's arm down enough so that he could talk. After gulping down some unrestricted air he hissed, "Well, I suppose I get that from _you_."

Edmund stared at him hard for a moment. Then he growled and drew back his hand-

Someone hammered on the front door, making the three of them jump and freeze. "Hamilton! Open this door immediately!"

James jerked in his father's grasp, startled. He recognised that voice. He'd only heard it once before, about a year ago, but he'd know it anywhere. "What's Gri-"

"Shh!" His father hissed, immediately, releasing James and hurrying over to the door. He grasped the door handle and turned back to look at them. "Neither of you say a word, do you understand?"

Laura nodded instantly and for once James was only silent for a moment before complying. Edmund hesitated then opened the door to greet none other than Cornelius Grim. The man who lived up to his name in appearance and personality stood on their doorstep flanked by two other shadow worshippers. Curious townsfolk watched on from safe distance away. Laura nervously crept over to where James was still standing by the wall and clung to his wrist fearfully.

"Hamilton." Grim said sharply. "You didn't come to the temple this week. We were expecting you."

"I've been busy." Edmund replied in an equally clipped tone. "Business. You know how it is, Grim." His gaze inadvertently flickered to his wife and son, drawing Grim's with it. "What are you doing here Grim? I wasn't... aware you knew where I lived."

Grim smiled. It wasn't a happy expression. "I know a lot of things you wouldn't like me to know, Hamilton." He said quietly. "Now, I believe that you and I have business of our own to attend to. I'd appreciate it if you'd come with me now to talk."

"Father." James piped up suddenly. "Don't..."

Edmund shot James a venomous warning glance. "Now, James, what have I told you about interrupting me when I'm talking to people?" He turned his back on James again and faced Grim. "Alright. Shall we go now?"

"Father." James said again, this time taking a step forward. "Don't go with him."

Grim smirked at James. "Children. They have no manners these days. How old is he, Hamilton?"

Edmund froze, staring at Grim for a moment. James could tell by the sudden stiffening of his shoulders that he wasn't pleased by this sudden turn of the conversation. "Sixteen." He finally replied through gritted teeth.

"Sixteen?" Grim repeated, turning to look at James again. "Not a child after all then." His grin twisted into something darker and James recoiled, barely biting back a whimper of fear. He'd thought his own father evil, but next to this man he was practically Albert the Luminous himself.

Grim finally looked away from James. "Let's go Edmund. Quickly now." On that note, he turned on his heel and walked off down the road, still flanked by his shadow worshipper cronies. Edmund hesitated long enough to glance back at his wife and son before following like an obedient dog.

Laura watched them go through the front window, her small frame shivering fearfully. "Oh James..." She said, once they had disappeared from sight. "What does that awful, awful man want with your father?"

James shook his head numbly and wrapped his arms around himself. He shivered at the memory of Grim's smile and settled himself down in a seat by at the table once again. "I don't know..." He whispered, closing his eyes. "I don't think I want to know any more." He rested his elbows on the table again and hid his face in his hands. "Mother... I have a bad feeling about all of this. The Temple of Shadows isn't exactly anything to be afraid of, but Cornelius Grim... he's... he's something else."

"What do you think will happen if your father doesn't sort out this mess he's gotten himself into?" Laura whispered, moving over to where James sat and placing her hands on his shoulders.

James shook his head. "I don't want to think about it."

They fell into silence for a while, James thinking and Laura worrying. Slowly an idea began to form in James's mind, though he was reluctant to give it much thought. It was ridiculous anyway. There was no way it he could help. But the longer he thought about it, the more convinced he became that it was the only option open to him.

"Mother." He murmured, lifting his head from his hands. "I'm going to Oakfield."

Laura frowned behind him and bit her lip. James didn't have to see her to know she was doing it. "Whatever for?" She asked, releasing his shoulders and settling down in one of the other seats.

James tented his hands in front of him, pressing his index fingers to his lips thoughtfully. "I believe there's a man there who might be able to help us." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "The abbot."

"From the Temple of Light?" Laura asked, her forehead creasing in confusion. "But... even if they can help, the temple won't do anything if you don't give them a donation and your father locked us out of the bank account."

"I'll work something out." James said, standing up. "It's not like there's anything else we can do if father won't even tell us what's going on. I'll set out for Oakfield this evening, before father gets home. Don't tell him what I'm doing, you know he'll only try and stop me anyway."

"Maybe he should try and stop you." Laura replied quietly. "James, it's dangerous in Rookridge. You'll never make it to Oakfield alive on your own."

James shook his head. "It'll be fine. I'll get a coach ride there." He smiled faintly on his way upstairs to begin packing. "Trust me."

---

That evening James left the house after saying goodbye to his mother. As he'd expected, she'd pleaded and cried at him not to go, having managed to convince herself he was going to die horribly on his way to Oakfield. Never-the-less he'd escaped and headed off towards Bowerstone Market to the coach house.

When he arrived at the market though, he could tell immediately that something was wrong. For starters, everything was quieter than usual. Even this late there was usually children playing in the streets and people yelling at the pub. Now, however, it was almost silent. And the few people he did see milling around looked distraught and unhappy. They were all wearing black.

Unnerved, James hurried across the bridge to the coach house. There was already a small group of travellers waiting there, two men and a woman. They looked up as he approached but he ignored them, instead heading straight to the office. The man sitting at the desk there looked up tiredly as he approached.

"Is there a stage coach to Oakfield tonight?" He asked, folding his hands on the countertop neatly. The man nodded at the group behind him who were standing next to the only coach present.

"The last one tonight. If you want to catch it with them, cough up the money quick. We're leaving in ten."

James nodded and handed over the money he'd managed to swindle out of his mother, albeit a little sullenly. He disliked travelling with strangers, especially in such confined spaces as coaches. The man took the money and stuck it in the till, then handed James his ticket. "A'right you lot, get in then." He called past James, standing up. "No point standing around out here for the next ten minutes after all."

The other three passengers quickly climbed in and James hurried after them, climbing up the steps and into the coach. The woman and one of the men had settled down beside each other on one of the seats so James took his place beside the other man opposite them. The woman smiled at him.

"Hello." She chirped brightly. "My name's Vanessa, and this is my husband," She gestured at the man beside her, "Frederick and his brother Thomas. What's your name?"

James forced a small smile. "James. Nice to meet you."

* * *

Sorry there was no Sparrow in this chapter... v.v But dun worry, because there will be lots of him in the next one. Like... LOTS. As in, constant Sparrow exposure for poor James. XD I can hear the tantrums already.

R&R if you feel like it. (But please do, because even though I'm gonna keep writing this fic anyway, regardless of reviews, I kinda have this wierd dislike of unbalanced numbers on my stats page... v.v)


	5. Chapter 5

New chapter for you. :D

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Even though James found her slightly annoying he listened to Vanessa's ramblings for the entirety of the coach ride. She told him in great detail about how she and her husband had always wanted to see the world and that was why they had started travelling once they were married. Thomas, on his part, was an amateur novelist and had tagged along so he could find inspiration for his writing. James sat quietly listening to her, only ever speaking when Vanessa stopped her speech long enough to ask him a question directly. When she asked where he was going, however, he merely said Oakfield and refused to elaborate further.

It was pitch black by the time they reached the cliffs of Rookridge, overlooking the sea. James wrapped his arms around himself, pulling his overcoat tighter around his body and shivering. During one of the brief lulls in Vanessa's endless one sided conversation, Frederick leaned out of the window to talk to the coach driver.

"Excuse me sir, but I've heard talk of bandits out on these roads... do you think we'll be safe?"

"Oh, aye." James heard the driver reply. "We'll be fine. The bridge isn't much further up the road and there's a coach house and an inn we can rest at for a bit. Just hold tight and we'll be there soon."

"Bandits?" James asked worriedly when Frederick settled back down in his seat. "I haven't heard anything about bandits."

"You haven't?" Vanessa cut in before Frederick could reply. "Well, where have you been? Everyone's been talking about the increased bandit activity out here. It's said to be very dangerous. Apparently the bandits have cut off the direct route through the hills."

James paled at that. "The... the direct route?" He asked quietly. "So we'll be going along the cliff side road?" Vanessa nodded and James sank down further in his seat. "Oh..."

"Why? Whatever's wrong, Jam- _Ah_!"

The coach jerked and rocked violently as something crashed into the side of it. James gave a startled yell as it started to topple over towards the rocky cliffs beside the road. Thomas accidentally knocked him as he made a grab for something to hold onto. James, in turn, grabbed Thomas's coat and pulled himself over, away from the wall of the carriage and the rocks.

The resounding crash and the cracking of wood when the coach hit the rocks was somehow drowned out by the triumphant whooping from outside. The four occupants inside froze in terror, clinging to each other and shivering in fear.

"A'right, yeh posh tossers!" A rough, falsetto voice called to them. "Come out o' the coach real slow like. If yeh don't..." There was a pause then a gunshot rang out, explosively loud, making James's ears ring. Something thudded against the outside of the coach, beside the driver's seat and someone made a horrible pained choking sound. Vanessa sobbed in fear and covered her hand with her mouth. James shrank back in his seat, trembling.

Frederick and Thomas stood up slowly, bent over so as not to hit their heads on the roof. Frederick ushered Vanessa further back along the seat, away from the bandits as his brother climbed outside. James saw the couple exchange a meaningful glance before Frederick followed his brother out.

"Tha's right..." The strange sounding bandit said. "Now, 'and over all yer money and we'll leave yeh be. If not..." James's mind supplied the mental image of a bandit gesturing at the coach driver's dead body.

"Fine... fine, just don't kill us..." Thomas said in a quiet, nervous voice. James heard the jingle of gold once, then twice as Frederick removed his own money bag. "Can we go now..?"

The gold chinked merrily as the bandit tossed it up and down in his hand. "Nah." He finally said with malicious cheer. "I never said yeh could go."

Frederick sputtered in shock. "But... but you said you'd leave us be! You said-"

"Aye." The bandit laughed. "I did say that. What I didn't say was whefer you'd be alive when we left yeh."

Thomas only managed to utter a small "Oh lord..." before two more gunshots rang out and Vanessa screamed in anguish.

"You bastards!" She sobbed, standing up and moving over to the open door of the carriage. "You killed them! How _could_ you, you horrible, wicked me-"

James jerked away as a third gunshot rang out and Vanessa cut off, swaying backwards a step before falling to the floor of the coach. James cowered in his corner, hoping desperately that they didn't realise he was there. Maybe they had thought there were only three passengers. Maybe they'd just go away with the gold...

"Oi! Cry baby! Get out here."

"No..." James whimpered, shaking his head and curling up tighter. He couldn't go out there. They'd kill him, just like the killed the others. He didn't want to die. He was only a teenager, and his father needed his help and what would his mother think when she found out she'd been _right_? Oh god, he couldn't die, he didn't want to die, please-

The carriage creaked and shuddered as someone climbed up and grabbed his arm roughly. "I said get out!" The bandit said again, tugging him none too gently from the coach. James yelped and struggled feebly against the grip but the bandit, unsurprisingly, was stronger and dragged him out into the rain. James moaned in fear, squirming in the hope of escaping. He heard someone reload a pistol and then a cold metal ring was pressed against his temple.

The gunpowder exploded and someone cried out in pain. It took James a few moments to realise that that person wasn't him. The gun against his head was gone and the bandit holding him still released him. James staggered backwards and slumped against the coach as the bandits roared in outrage and swarmed towards someone a little way down the road. Even though he watched, James couldn't identify his rescuer. His state of shock was so overwhelming that he could barely do anything but slump to the ground and cry.

Guns exploded and metal struck metal. A dog barked and snarled. He was even sure he heard the roar of flames once but his mind was too disconnected to make sense of all the noise. Instead he tucked his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and hiding his face. Vanessa was dead. She'd died right in front of him. He was sure he had a little of her blood on his sleeve. He'd have to clean that. He'd been told blood didn't come out well. He didn't know for sure. He'd never seen so much of it before.

Gradually the sounds of battle died away but James was barely aware of that either. He heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel approaching him but he just pressed his face harder against his knees. He didn't want to watch. He didn't want to see the utter lack of remorse on his killer's face as he died.

"Pumpkin?" A vaguely familiar voice asked. It sounded slightly strained from panting. A dog whined in confusion at hearing its name addressed to someone else.

James didn't respond for what felt like hours. Eventually, the man with the vaguely familiar voice reached out and gripped him under his arms, carefully lifting him to his feet. James slumped like a ragdoll against his saviour's chest and buried his face in the damp material. He was glad it was already wet. That meant his tears wouldn't leave a mark.

As he stood there, slumped against the other man and crying, James gradually became aware that the man who was holding him so awkwardly was Sparrow. After all, who else called him Pumpkin? He choked out a soft, wet growl of displeasure at the situation, but was still too upset about the incident to do anything other than loosen his grip on Sparrow slightly. Sparrow, for once in his life, refrained from being an insensitive prat and said nothing about it.

Eventually James sobs faded into little sniffles and he pushed himself away from Sparrow, backing up a few steps. "You bastard..." He said weakly, without much venom, "Taking... taking advantage of me when I'm upset... It's not _civil_."

Sparrow crooked an eyebrow at him and smirked faintly. "Takin' advantage of yeh?" He repeated, glancing back at the bandits. "If anythin', I reckon I'm the one who was taken advantage of. Firs' I save yeh life, then I let yeh cry all over me, and this is the thanks I get."

James scowled shakily and turned his back on Sparrow. "Well, I think I'm entitled to be a little short with you." He bit out sharply. "I... I was just... I mean..." He gestured franticly in the direction of the coach, his shoulders hunched up defensively. "I've never seen death like this before."

Behind him Sparrow was silent for a while. The only sound between them was Pumpkin panting happily. Finally Sparrow replied casually, "Yeh ain't like me, I guess." The gravel on the road crunched as Sparrow approached, stepping in front of James when he was close enough. James didn't bother to glare at him this time. "What yeh doin' out here, Pumpkin?"

"Don't call me that." James sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"What should I call yeh then?"

James paused and shot a withering glance at Sparrow. Sparrow raised his eyebrows at James expectantly. "Just call me by my name." James finally said, exasperated and really in no mood to deal with the adventurer. He hesitated then added, "I don't appreciate being named after your dog."

Sparrow's mouth curled up into its customary smirk. "Yeh've met Pumpkin then?" James nodded.

"I have, and he's a damn sight nicer than you are." He muttered, finally starting to regain his composure. He reached up and ran his hand through his hair, scowling when he realised he'd lost his hat. "Where..?" He turned to glance at the coach and sure enough there was his little short top hat, lying on the seat near Vanessa's dead body. A large splash of stark red blood stained the white ribbon. He felt his stomach flip unpleasantly at the sight and turned away again. "Never mind. I... I have to go."

He stepped around and past Sparrow and started off up the road again but before he could take more than two steps Sparrow reached out and snagged his sleeve, pulling him back. "Where d'yeh think yer goin'?" He asked, arching one eyebrow incredulously. "Yeh can't go off on yer own. These won't be all the bandits around here."

"I have to go to Oakfield though." James told Sparrow softly, then remembered himself and slapped Sparrow's wrist. "So, unhand me."

Sparrow didn't let go immediately, instead his raised eyebrow floated up even further, but he eventually released James and spread his hands. "A'right. Yer own funeral, I suppose."

James adjusted his sleeve and nodded curtly. "Yes, I suppose it is." He gulped audibly, his nose wrinkling in visible distaste as he struggled to swallow his pride. "Thank... thank you for saving me."

"No problem, Pumpkin." Sparrow replied, saluting James mockingly. James shot him a vicious glare but didn't bother following it up. Sparrow didn't seem keen to listen to him anyway.

He turned on his heel and stomped off up the road, rubbing at his eyes. They were itchy and sore from crying and his pride was severely wounded but he was alive and that was all that mattered to him. He couldn't go back now anyway. The coach was broken and the horses had ran off, and even if they hadn't he didn't know how to drive one. And between going back to Bowerstone with his tail between his legs and continuing on to Oakfield, James knew which option appealed to him the most.

As he crested the small bank though, he suddenly found himself in company. Pumpkin - the dog, that is - appeared beside him, trotting along without a care in the world. James glanced at him, startled then looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, Sparrow was there, a few yards behind him, walking along at a perfectly casual pace.

"Are you following me?" James demanded, coming to a stop fully and turning to glare at Sparrow. The gypsy just smiled and shrugged.

"I guess." He replied. "We are goin' to the same place, after all."

"Well, stop it." James snapped. He was feeling thoroughly rattled by now and Sparrow's sudden desire to stalk him wasn't helping at all. "You're making me uncomfortable."

Behind him Sparrow started to laugh so James picked up the pace, determined to lose him. He stormed along the road, around a large boulder and a ruined wall. In front of him was a small cliff, but James barely paid it any heed. However, as he started to round a second boulder, Sparrow's hand clamped down on his shoulder and dragged him back. He gave a startled little yelp, almost falling over.

"What-" He started to say, but Sparrow clamped his other hand over his mouth. The older boy wasn't looking at him; he was staring intently at something on the cliffs. James's brow furrowed slightly in confusion. This wasn't the Sparrow he was used to. That Sparrow was a joker who seemed to live only to torment people. This one though... this Sparrow was a killer.

"There." Sparrow murmured, close to James's ear. "On the cliffs. Can yeh see them?"

James turned to look. At first he couldn't see anything. His eyesight had never been especially good, but glasses weren't in fashion this season and he refused to wear them just because they were practical. Yet as he looked he started to make out shapes moving around on top of the cliff.

Bandits. Dozens of them. James whimpered fearfully against Sparrow's palm.

* * *

I actually didn't think the coach scene would last so long... Oh well.

R&R if you feel like it.


	6. Chapter 6

Hee hee! Thank ye for the reviews!

* * *

**Chapter Six**

"Get down."

James folded his legs almost immediately, allowing Sparrow to shove him to the ground behind the boulder. The bandits still hadn't spotted them but if Sparrow hadn't pulled him back – James decided it was best not to think about it. Instead he descended into a worried sulk. Really, it was bad enough being saved by Sparrow once. Twice was just too much.

There was an odd, muffled sound from above him and James looked up. Sparrow was a wielding a small, battered looking pistol, his gaze still locked on the bandits. His eyes flicked from one to another, calculating, plotting. James would never have admitted it, but seeing that look on Sparrow's face, no matter how frightening it was, did comfort him a little. At least Sparrow knew what he was doing out here.

"Don't move." Sparrow suddenly hissed at him and before James could reply he whipped out from behind the boulder, took aim and started shooting. James shied away from the thunderous cracks, covering his ears though it did little to protect them. Even over the sound of the exploding gunpowder he could hear the bandits bellowing as they recovered from Sparrow's surprise attack, rallying to strike back.

Sparrow ducked back behind the rock just as the bandits fired off a volley of shots. Their guns sounded louder, more like blunderbusses and rifles than the little pistol Sparrow had. James chewed on his lower lip nervously as Sparrow reloaded. Once he was done, he leaned out, fired a few times, and then leaned back again. "They're comin' down." He said, glancing at James out of the corner of his eye. "Try to stay outta the way, will yeh?"

James couldn't even bring himself to be annoyed at Sparrow's tone of voice. He was already scrambling for the bushes near the boulder. He heard Sparrow give a strained little laugh before lunging to his feet and drawing his sword, the metal hissing out of the sheath. James heard the bandits jeering as the flooded into the clearing at the bottom of the cliff. From where he sat, James could see around the boulder and watched as Sparrow swaggered out towards them, Pumpkin at his side. The bandits spread out in an arc in front of him, each one occasionally making false lunges. James shivered in terror at the sheer number of them. There must have been over a dozen.

A small smirk graced Sparrow's lips but it was different to his usual sly grin. His eyes were still cold and cunning; his expression was nothing but a trap. He placed one foot forward slightly and spread his arms, leaning in towards the bandits.

"Come an' have a go, if yeh think yer hard enough."

The effect was immediate. Like childish little boys the bandits roared and dashed forwards. Of course they would. Their pride was at stake. One man, faster than the others, raced towards Sparrow, his sword raised high above his head to strike.

Faster than James would have thought possible, Sparrow whipped to the side, slashing the bandit across the stomach. The man lurched to a stop, spluttered up a little blood and dropped to his knees. He glanced down at the gaping wound in his belly then slumped forward onto the ground. James jerked back, his teeth bared in disgust and horror.

The rest of the bandits lurched to a halt, but only for a moment and when they recovered they were angrier than ever.

"What the 'ell am I supposed to tell 'is wife and kids, eh?" One snarled, edging closer to Sparrow, and raising his blade threateningly. Sparrow only shrugged.

"Don't worry about it. Yeh not gonna get the chance to tell them anythin'."

After that it was all a bit of a blur to James. The bandits swarmed over Sparrow, blades flashing in Rookridge's perpetual half light, the sound of metal clashing against metal ringing out in the otherwise silent air. James watched fearfully from his relative safety behind the rocks and bushes. He couldn't see Sparrow anymore. He was completely surrounded by bandits. He felt a stab of worry but honestly could decide whether it was for Sparrow's safety or his own.

Amidst the confusion, bandits started to fall. Cries of pain were mixed in with the clashes of swords and James noted that not all of them were from the bandits.

An ethereal noise suddenly echoed around the cliffs. It crackled and hissed and the bandits recoiled somewhat, pausing in their attacks long enough for James to realise that the sound was coming from _Sparrow_. He held between his hands a globe of pure blue light that sparked and warped, staring at it with sheer concentration on his face. Just as the first bandit recovered and raised his sword again, Sparrow slammed the ball of light down into the ground.

There was a hollow boom and James flinched back as a barely visible force exploded outwards. It struck the bandits, sending them flying backwards. Pumpkin dived on one, ripping his throat out in seconds. Sparrow grabbed his pistol once more, took aim and fired.

Nine shots, one for each man. He shot them dead before they had a chance to get back to their feet. James shrank back behind the boulder, trembling and closed his eyes. Sparrow still had that blank, icy look in his eye.

"Yeh can come out now." Sparrow said after a moment. James hesitated then got up, deciding it was better to go to Sparrow than have Sparrow come to him. He edged around the boulder and out into the clearing, glancing up at the cliff warily. "Don't worry." Sparrow said, catching the look. "There's none left."

"Is that supposed to be comforting?" James murmured weakly. "The bandits might be dead but I'm still here alone with the man who killed them all." He gave Sparrow a once over and winced involuntarily. "Are you- are you hurt?"

Sparrow glanced down at himself with vague curiosity. He was covered in bruises, cuts and thick red welts. He shifted his weight and grimaced.

"Aye, but it's nowt a potion won't fix..." He rummaged around in a small pack hanging off his belt and produced a small pot. He popped it open and drank most of it. He dipped his fingers into what was left and smeared it over the worse scratches. "Should be fine now." He said then gestured at James. "D'yeh need one?"

James shook his head quickly. "No, I'm fine. Shall we... shall we go now?"

Sparrow's smile returned, but this time it wasn't the cold, hollow version James had witnessed a moment ago. He was back to normal apparently and James was rather disturbed to find he was relieved by that. "Oh, so now we're travellin' together?"

"Apparently so." James muttered, scowling and crossing his arms across his chest. "But once we get to Oakfield we go our separate ways."

"Fine by me." Sparrow replied, shrugging. "Come on." He set off up the road again, limping slightly. With each step he took he rolled his foot, soothing the pain in his ankle until he could walk normally again. James hesitated by the boulder a moment longer, rubbing his face before he followed.

It turned out to be just as well James had tagged along with Sparrow. Along the cliff side path they encountered more, smaller groups of bandits but in such small bands of three or four Sparrow dealt with them easily. He even went out of his way to catch the ones that made it past him to go after James. James grudgingly gave him some brownie points for that.

At one point, James and Sparrow had crouched at the top of a hill and Sparrow had shot the three bandits below without them ever realising they were there. James giggled softly at the way they ran around panicking before slapping a hand over his mouth guiltily.

"It's not _funny_." He lamented in frustration as they made their way down the hill. It just made Sparrow laugh harder. "They're dead!"

"Yeah, so?" Sparrow shot back, kicking one of the dead bandits in the ribs. "Better him than us, I reckon."

"We still shouldn't laugh..." James muttered, folding his arms and looking anywhere but at the dead bandits.

Sparrow slunk around in front of him and grinned. "But _you_ laughed first."

James's eyes widened. "I- I wasn't laughing at that!" He protested but Sparrow just continued to leer at him smugly until he threw his hands up in aggravation. "I give up. You are _impossible_." He stomped around Sparrow and continued on towards the bridge.

"I know yeh secretly like me." Sparrow practically sang, jogging after James.

"Yes, you make a wonderful bodyguard." James replied. "But that's as far as it goes. You are an insufferable, unbearable, excruciatingly irritating person and... and..."

"And what?" Sparrow called back as he rounded the corner but James didn't reply. He was too busy staring at the destroyed bridge, or rather, at the very high drop to the sea below. He didn't even look up when Sparrow padded up and stopped beside him, leaning forward to peer out over the edge. "Bloody hell, tha's a long way down, innit?" He said casually.

"I don't like heights..." James murmured in reply, before taking a few very careful steps backwards, away from the bridge. Sparrow glanced back at him, then across the bridge.

"A'right?" He called, waving one hand casually at the bandits on the other side. James jumped, startled, not realising there had been people on the other side. "I'm guessin' yer the ones who did this?"

"Aye, you betcha we did." One bandit with a raspy voice said, sounding extremely proud of this. "Guess you'll just hafta go back the way you came."

"Or you can jump." A second bandit, this one with a deeper voice added and he and Raspy started laughing.

"That's right, jump!" Raspy yelled, grinning at Boomer who quickly caught on. "Jump, jump, jump!"

"Dive!"

James deadpanned and Sparrow raised one eyebrow quizzically at the third bandit as Raspy and Boomer rounded on their companion. "Sorry!" The stupid bandit said quickly.

"You always hafta be different." Raspy muttered, displeased.

Sparrow turned his back on the bandits to face James. "Ladies first." He said, gesturing at the broken bridge. James just stared at him, horrified.

"I'm not jumping off there." He snapped immediately, his fear of heights overriding the 'lady' comment entirely. "I... I'll just go home. It's not that important anyway. I can just come back another day." He smiled weakly and took another step back. "So... it was very nice seeing you again – probably – but I really must be going so –"

Sparrow grabbed James's wrist and tugged him closer before he could escape. "Oi. I just risked my neck for _you_ so if yeh think I'm lettin' yeh bugger off back to Bowerstone, yer mistaken."

"Hey, what's the matter? You afraid of heights?" Raspy taunted.

"Chicken, chicken!" Daft jeered.

"How old are you, eight?" Raspy growled.

James scowled and ignored the bandits, struggling feebly against Sparrow's grip. "Yes... well, if I leave now you won't have to protect me the rest of the way. So you see, it's a win-win... situation..."

Sparrow didn't seem overly convinced.

"Put yer arms around my neck." He instructed, tugging on James's arm again. James gave him an alarmed look. "Just do it."

"Go on, jump you big baby!" Boomer yelled.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Raspy added.

"They could die." Daft replied.

"Shut it." Raspy snarled.

Sparrow sighed and grabbed James's other hand, tugging them forcibly around his neck. "If yeh don't do as I say, I'll just toss yeh off, and that'll probably kill yeh."

"But-" James started to say, trying to squirm away. He could feel the panic swelling in his chest, but Sparrow wasn't listening. He hoisted James up off his feet and turned back to the bridge. "No!" James shrieked in terror, clinging to Sparrow in case he decided to toss him over anyway. He felt rather than heard Sparrow laugh before...

..before...

Before Sparrow _jumped_.

* * *

You know what I just realised? Sparrow's _northern_. XD

R&R if you feel like it.


	7. Chapter 7

Bleh, I hate writing sequences that actually happened in the game, but this one was neccessary. v.v Oh well, enjoy!

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**Chapter Seven**

The fall, to James, felt like it lasted hours. He vaguely heard Sparrow tell him to hold his breath but instead he just screamed. And really, it was hardly _his_ fault. Sparrow had just forced him to commit double suicide with him, had he not?

His wailing was cut off abruptly when they hit the water. Having fallen feet first, they entered the water in a fairly streamlined shape and nothing was broken. Thank goodness for small favours. Sparrow spread his legs and threw out one arm to slow them down. James just clung to him for dear life and tried not to drink the salt water. Sparrow kicked his legs viciously, using his one free arm to claw his way towards the light.

Finally, they broke the surface and James coughed, spluttering wetly, "You!" he cried, his voice wobbly from trying not to vomit. Salt water was _vile_, "Are you trying to kill me?!"

"I told you to hold yeh breath, not scream the whole bloody mountain down!" Sparrow snapped back, flailing for a moment until he managed to catch his rhythm and tread water.

"Well, I _am_ sorry," James said his voice thick with sarcasm, "Next time someone tries to _kill _me, I'll be sure to be _nice and quiet_." From somewhere above them they could hear the bandits roaring with laughter. James sputtered indignantly, "Stop laughing at me!" he hollered at them, attempting to shake a fist and only succeeding in making himself sink again. He popped back up and returned to glaring at Sparrow, "When we get to Oakfield I'm reporting you for attempt murder, you... you... _gah_!"

He struggled to swim away from the thing that had just landed in the water perilously close to him. A moment later Pumpkin poked his head out, snorting water. He gave both Sparrow and James fleeting glances then paddled off towards the little patch of beach beyond.

"Yer right," Sparrow said, "I shouldn't've named yeh after my dog. He's got more balls'n yeh." He grinned and started to follow Pumpkin.

James fumed silently at the back of Sparrow's head for a moment. "Well, perhaps I'm just not stupid enough to leap off a broken bridge after you," he growled slowly trailing after the other two.

When he finally pulled himself out of the water and onto the sandy beach, James dropped to his hands and knees, moaning pathetically. He shivered from head to foot, soaked in cold water as he was, and wrapped his arms around his stomach. "I feel sick..."

"Yeh shouldn't drink the sea water, then, should yeh?" Sparrow replied as he wrung out his ponytail, "If yeh were that thirsty I coulda-"

"Joey?"

They both looked up curiously at the sound of another person's voice. Neither of them had expected anyone else to be down here and James slowly staggered to his feet for a better look. There was a little path off the beach that led up to the mouth of a cave and a man stood there, staring into the darkness.

"Joey, are you in there?"

Sparrow shot James a cautious look, holding up his hand, signalling for him to stay where he was. James didn't argue. He wasn't exactly overwhelmed with the urge to run up and talk to the strange, dirty little man. Instead he shrugged his coat off and set about wringing it out as Sparrow approached the stranger.

"Oi," he called from the bottom of the path, "who's Joey?"

The man whipped around, startled and stared at Sparrow for a moment. Then his expression melted into one of relief and he scampered down the path.

"Oh, thank goodness," he said, all in a rush, "It's my son. He's lost in that cave and- please. I'm afraid to go in alone."

James eyed his coat then thought better of putting it on again and tied the sleeves around his waist. Trying valiantly to ignore the clamminess of the rest of his clothing he trudged towards Sparrow and the man, utterly disregarding Sparrow's earlier instructions. He stopped, hovering just behind Sparrow's right shoulder and peered at the odd little man disinterestedly.

"Will you help me find him?" the man pressed, wringing his hands anxiously.

Sparrow pulled a face and glanced around at the beach. "Well," he muttered, "does this cave lead up there?" He nodded at the broken bridge.

"Oh, yes," the man nodded furiously, his expression turning from hopeful to downright pleading.

Turning back to James, Sparrow shrugged. "I don't suppose yeh highness has any objections?"

James blinked at Sparrow for a moment while he processed what he'd said then sniffed angrily. "Of course I don't. It's a _child_! I'm not completely heartless." In all honesty, he couldn't have cared less, but apparently having a soft spot for children endeared you to many people, or so he'd been told.

"So you'll help me?"

Sparrow nodded, waving a hand nonchalantly. "Aye, sure. We need to go through here anyway."

"Oh thank heavens," the man sighed in relief, clasping his hands in front of his chest, "Thank you so much. Shall- shall we go?"

"Yeah, sure. Come on," Sparrow gestured for James and the man to follow him and started off up the path. James glanced at the frantic man then hurried after Sparrow, "So what's yer name?" Sparrow called over his shoulder as he stepped into the shadows of the cave.

"H-Herman."

"I'm Sparrow and that's..." he paused and glanced over his shoulder at James, "What's yer proper name again?"

James shot Sparrow a disbelieving look, to which Sparrow simply shrugged. "It's James." He spat irritably after a moment.

The entrance of the cave didn't look at all promising. James paused in mid step and glanced around uncertainly. Water dripped from the ceiling and the soil and sand that made up the ground was wet. For a moment, James worried about getting his clothing wet and then he remembered it was just a tad late for that. To stop himself from throwing something at Sparrow he examined a stalactite intently for a moment.

During his little moment of contemplation, something bothered him. He glanced at Herman. "So, why exactly were you afraid to come in here? It's just a cave."

The guilty look Herman gave him immediately set James on edge. "Ah," he said quietly as he shuffled after Sparrow, "there's something I may have forgot to... er, mention."

Sparrow stopped and turned to look at Herman, his expression cool. "Is that right? How about yeh mention it now, then?"

"Hobbes," Herman spluttered quickly, wringing his hands again, "there... there are hobbes living in here. They took my Joey. Please, I can't get him back by myself-"

Sparrow held up a hand to ward off Herman's pleas. "A'right, I never said I'd stop helpin' yeh," he turned and started walking again. Both Herman and James hurried after him, each vying to be the closest to the adventurer with the large sword and gun, "How'd hobbes get their hands on yer kid anyway?"

"We were supposed to be going to Bowerstone," Herman replied, "but when we got to the bridge it had already been blown up. There were bandits everywhere; we couldn't risk going back, so we hid in the old coach house," he nodded at the ceiling, "there's a trap door that leads down into the cave inside it. Anyway, while I was sleeping I think he snuck off down there, or that maybe one of them snatched him... I was going to come down to find him, but then the bandits found me. They pushed me off the bridge- I nearly drowned, but then I found the entrance to the cave down here and... well, then you showed up."

James made a noise of disgust and shook his head. "Bandits... I don't suppose we'll ever be rid of those vermin," he swallowed quietly and glanced at Sparrow, "Have... have you ever seen a hobbe before?"

Sparrow shook his head. "Nah, only heard stories about them. Still, they can't be much harder to kill than bandits."

A strange, jabbering cry echoed suddenly down the narrow passageway they were walking along and they all froze. A shiver ran up James's spine and he edged closer to Sparrow. "I heard that hobbes used to be children..."

"I heard that too," Herman added, sounding understandably more distraught about it than James had, "but that _can't_ be true. Those things- those monsters couldn't possibly have been children... could they?"

"That's enough chatter," Sparrow said, sounding surprisingly stern, "let's keep movin'."

As they made their way along the wide, rock tunnel another of those strange sounds echoed through the cave and James struggled to resist the urge to grab Sparrow's hand. "What's that smell..?" he asked as the neared what looked like a large cavern, "Oh, it's _disgusting_." He scrunched up his nose and clamped his hands over his mouth to try and block it out, but even that didn't help. The tangy, fetid smell seemed to pervade his senses completely and his squirmed, trying to escape it as though it were a physical thing. Behind him Herman coughed and covered his own nose and mouth.

"It smells like..." Sparrow started, edging out into the cavern. There was a moment as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light then he cringed back slightly, "Aye... thought I recognised it."

James edged up to peer around him. "What is it?" he asked then his gaze dropped to what looked like a large, dark stain in the centre of the room, "Oh... is- is that?"

Herman stepped into the room beside them, took one look around, caught an accidental whiff of the awful smell... and vomited right next to James. James yelped and stumbled away from him to Sparrow's other side. Sparrow chuckled humourlessly.

"Sorry..." Herman said weakly, shaking his, "this is just... I've never-"

"Forget about it," Sparrow said, cutting straight across Herman, "It doesn't matter. Let's concentrate on gettin' out of here-"

For a third time, something jabbered in the cave, but this time it sounded far closer. In fact, to James it sounded like it was no further than the next room. This time he couldn't stop himself from latching on to Sparrow's arm and clinging as if for dear life. Sparrow glanced at him, a glint of real amusement flashing in his eyes before he grabbed his gun and nodded at the little corridor on the other side of the blood-soaked ground.

"Guess that's out next stop," he said, "let's go."

They crossed the massive pool of blood, the ground squelching thickly with each step. James jumped in fright when Pumpkin bumped against the side of his leg, shivering. He had his ears down and his tail between his legs. That only served to make James more fearful.

They hurried through the next tight, unnatural corridor, their footsteps worryingly loud. James eyed the wooden planks and beams supporting the ceiling and wondered who had put them there, and more importantly, how long ago. He released his grip on Sparrow's arm, instead letting his hand fall to rest on Pumpkin's head. The dog might have been terrified, but he was certainly a better choice than Herman.

Sparrow stopped suddenly at the end of the tunnel and turned, placing a hand on James's chest to force him to stop. "Wait here," he said, "don't move until I come back. Unless, yeh know, I die. Then yeh can move all yeh like, preferably back the way we came." James nodded numbly and behind him Herman made a shaky little noise of assent, "Okay, I'll be back in a tick," and with a disturbingly cheerful smile, he bounded off around the corner and into the next room.

The frightening jabbering noises from earlier exploded a mere moment after Sparrow disappeared from sight. James yelped involuntarily and shrank back, bumping against Herman. Pumpkin whined, shivering against the side of James's leg even harder.

And then the gunshots started. One, two, four, six, _nine_. Between every three shots there was a desperate little pause as Sparrow reloaded his feeble clockwork pistol and each time the hobbes would either wail in agony or cackle in triumph. At one point Sparrow grunted in pain but the hobbe that had caused was soon shrieking unhappily.

Eventually, the hobbes' frightening cries died away to the occasional pained gurgle and Sparrow finally called out to them. "They're dead," he said between pants, "Ow, that lil' bastard bit me... aw shit, that's gonna get infected..."

James glanced over his shoulder at Herman then edged down into the open room. He peeked around the scaffold nervously, his stomach twisting in a mixture of fear and a strange curiosity about what hobbes actually looked like.

Sparrow was limping around the bodies of three, lumpy little creatures, cursing to himself and dabbing at the bloody bite mark on his leg. He looked up as James and Herman approached before nodding at the hobbes. "They don't look it, but they're vicious little buggers," he muttered, "Pu- _James_... make yerself useful and tie this around my leg." He tugged a long piece of cloth out of his pack and waved it at James.

"Why do I have to do it?" James replied, folding his arms and grimacing. Sparrow huffed and waved the rag with a little more vigour.

"Because I asked nicely and also because one of the little bastards shot me, so I'm having some trouble bending over," he said, in a perfectly matter of fact way. James faltered, concern flashing in his eyes for a moment and he stepped forward.

"Are you alright?" he asked, taking the cloth and crouching in front of Sparrow, "I'm only asking because if you die, I'll probably be eaten by hobbes, but-"

Sparrow knocked him around the head gently before prodding at his abdomen. "Aye, I'm fine, and yer concern is so touchin'," he said, "I've got this thick leather thing under my shirt, and its gun was a piece of horse shite so it'll just leave a bruise," he winced and hissed a breath through his teeth, "Helluva bruise."

James rolled his eyes but never-the-less pulled Sparrow's trouser leg up and fastened the cloth strip around the bloody wound. What it needed was cleaning, but James didn't fancy any of the water they might find in the cave and it _was_ Sparrow after all, so it hardly mattered.

"I can't believe these things were really children once," Herman said, making both Sparrow and James jump. They'd forgotten he was there. Herman was standing over a young man's dead body. James hadn't noticed it before and he paled slightly, "Oh, Joey..."

Sparrow narrowed his eyes and glanced down at James. "If I'm honest, I don't fancy his kid's chances," he whispered covertly. James didn't reply, but he didn't fancy Joey's chances either.

* * *

I was in two minds as to whether I should post the Hobbe Cave thing in one large chapter or just stick to my regular in-the-region-of-2k sized chapters. In the end I decided to stick to the regular pattern. Don't worry though, they should be in Oakfield by the end of the next chapter!

R&R if you feel like it.


	8. Chapter 8

Eee..! Thankies to everyone who reviewed! :3 It really makes me happy.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

"Oh... I'm afraid of heights..."

James shot an exasperated glare over his shoulder as he wobbled carefully along the rickety wooden walkways. Behind him, Herman was whining quietly about how he didn't like heights and in front of him Sparrow was sniggering to himself.

"Well, I don't like heights either, but at least you didn't get dragged off a bridge by a psychopath," James hissed under his breath. Beneath his feet the wooden planks creaked loudly and he froze for a moment. Sparrow stopped on one of the rocky sections of the walkway and turned to look back at him.

"Stop bein' such a coward," he said, grinning faintly, "If I could walk over it, then yeh should be able to an' all."

"Oh, shut up," James snapped irritably as he took another tentative step. "For all I know, you might have gone and weakened the wood _further_." He cast a glance over the edge of the walkway and cringed. "Oh god, I'm going to die..."

Sparrow snorted and rolled his eyes, closing the distance between them in three long strides. James only just had time to shoot a startled glance at him before the gypsy grabbed his arm and dragged him forcibly up to the rock overhang. "Come on, Herman," Sparrow called over his shoulder, ignoring the angry, flustered sounds James was making at him.

Herman, unlike James, wasn't so bothered about heights as to disobey a direct order from Sparrow and hurried to their side as well, his face contorting in a way that James had to admit was rather funny each time the wooden planks squealed beneath his feet.

Sparrow turned and continued up the rest of the walkway, dragging James in his wake to make sure they weren't stuck in that same cave for three days. Herman hurried along behind them, muttering to himself fearfully. Their footsteps were the only sound in the cave and James couldn't stop the unpleasant shiver that jarred his spine. Why weren't the hobbes still making all the racket they had been earlier?

And then they finally reached solid ground again and he stopped worrying about it. James pulled away from Sparrow and hurried into the next tunnel, hovering around nervously and waiting for more hobbes to show up. He just knew they would. He never had any luck. Or rather, he never had any _good_ luck. Sparrow smirked at him as he idled passed, down into the next rock corridor, rubbing his side absently and trying not to look like he was in pain. James shot a glare after him and only moved when Pumpkin bumped into his leg.

The small group carried on down the corridor, James hanging back slightly with Pumpkin. Now that he knew Sparrow had cleared out the parts of the cave they'd just been in he felt safer hanging back than he did hovering around Sparrow himself. He placed his hand on Pumpkin's head again, earning a soft whine in reply. Yes, James thought, the dog was far more agreeable than his master.

And then the silence was broken by a hobbe's voice and Herman froze.

"That's Joey..." he said urgently and before either James or Sparrow could grab him, he darted off down the tunnel and out of sight.

"Herman!" Sparrow snapped, taking a few steps after him and then turning to James. "Come on, hurry up." James scowled at the tone but nodded and hurried after Sparrow, Pumpkin bounding along at his side.

The tunnel ended in another smaller cavern, the walls lined with barrels and crates. Some kind of storeroom James decided. Herman was nowhere to be seen but they could both hear him up ahead, calling for Joey. They exchanged a glance and started off in the direction of his voice.

Around them the barrels exploded, showering them with splintered pieces of wood and the triumphant cry of half a dozen hobbes.

Sparrow skidded to a halt, James slamming straight into his back. Pumpkin squirmed between their legs, his tail tucked between his own and whimpered. James very nearly copied his exact actions, shrinking against Sparrow's back, his gaze whipping back and forth fearfully.

The hobbes were far more frightening when they were alive than when they were dead and now three of them were intently focused upon _him_. They hopped forward a few steps, brandishing their crude clubs and maces threateningly and baring their crooked, yellow, blunted little fangs. One, James noticed, was wearing a pan on its head. If he wasn't so terrified he might have laughed. As it was, however, he wasn't capable of much more than a whimper.

"Get down," Sparrow snarled, a repetition of what he'd said before the battle with the bandits. James sincerely hoped this one would go as much in their favour as that one had as he obediently dropped to his knees, cowering by Sparrow's feet.

Sparrow took a wide stance, placing one foot in front of James and the other behind him, so that James was positioned directly beneath the arch of his legs. The tiny sliver of James's mind that was still functioning on a normal level made a mental note to be positively mortified by that later. The rest of him though, simply clapped his hands over his ears and hoped for the best.

And then the gun came out and Sparrow started shooting. Just like before, the hobbes took a worrying number of direct, point blank shots and barely even blinked. The three in front of them kept hopping closer, spreading out around them as they closed in. James was also highly aware of the ones behind them, in particular the one with the gun.

The gun that was being pointed directly at his head.

"Sparrow!" he yelped in terror, ducking his head and covering it with his arms. The gunfire above him faltered for just a moment and then it happened again; the crackling energy from before began. Sparrow was using magic.

James wasn't stupid enough to look up, especially not when whatever spell Sparrow was using was doing such an effective job of making his hair stand on end in an exceedingly unpleasant way. Instead he clutched at Pumpkin and buried his face in the scruff of his neck, trying to make himself as small as possible.

He felt Sparrow tense above him, he heard the hobbe cry in outrage and then he heard the snapping hiss of the spell as Sparrow hurled it at the sniper hobbe. He felt another wave of static wash over him, making every nerve in his body tingle before the hobbe shrieked in pain - the last sound it ever made, evidently.

Sparrow immediately turned his attentions back to the grunts. In the time he'd taken to kill the sniper they'd gotten dangerously close and James could even _smell_ Pan-Head's foul breath. Pumpkin was snarling, finally seeming to come into himself once again and Sparrow exchanged his gun for his sword in all of one movement.

He hadn't really been able to appreciate Sparrow's prowess with a sword during the fight with the bandits, mainly due to the fact that he hadn't been able to see anything then, but now he was able to fully value Sparrow's abilities. For a brief moment, James wondered exactly how your typical farm boy gypsy scumbag learnt how to wield a blade with such proficiency. And then a hobbe sank its teeth into his calf and every thought in his mind was rather thoroughly _obliterated_.

Pain. Searing hot debilitating pain the kind of which James had never experienced before. The hobbe loosened its grip ever so slightly, only to bite down even harder. He choked out a single agonized sob and screamed, too terrified and shocked to try and fight back. Where was Sparrow? Why wasn't he helping him? His leg was soaked in blood and hobbe spit and it hurt and _where was Sparrow_?

And then the hobbe shrieked and the pain lessened a considerable degree and a fraction of James's mind managed to scrabble its way back to awareness. He gasped, gulping in air to try and calm himself as he was certain he was on the verge of hyperventilating and _where_ was that bloody gypsy? He clasped his hands over the wound in his leg and looked around for his 'protector'.

He found him on the other side of the storeroom finishing off the last of the hobbes. None of them, James noted had a blood covered mouth. Belatedly, it occurred to him to wonder what had happened to the one that had attacked him. His eyes widened and his gaze whipped around, searching for the smelly little bastard.

He found it less than a foot away from his leg, twitching feebly. Pumpkin's mouth was wrapped quite firmly around its neck, pinning it to the ground. Occasionally he gave it a little shake, just to make sure it stayed dead.

A final gunshot from Sparrow's direction signalled the end of the last hobbe and a moment later he was crouched beside James, one eyebrow raised.

"What were yeh yellin' for?" he demanded, looking James up and down.

James scowled at him as hatefully as he could manage. It wasn't very effective considering that at some point he'd started sobbing his heart out and he was sure his eyes were puffy and that his nose was running. Lovely. He gave a jerky little nod at his leg.

"I got bitten..." he muttered, refusing to look at Sparrow. Beside him Sparrow hissed in sympathy.

"Aye, same as me then. Hey, we match!" He sounded far too delighted by that for James's liking. "Still, yer a bit of a ponce, so it'll prolly be worse for yeh," he added in such a matter of fact way that James couldn't _not_ turn and glower at him.

"Oh, that's nice. Really. I can't imagine why I never liked you before. You're such a _charmer_."

Sparrow snorted and started rooting around in his pack for a something. A moment later he produced a potion bottle, different to the little pot he'd used before. "Drink this," he said, shoving it into James's hands, "While I dress yer leg."

James wasn't about to argue. He knew a healing potion when he saw. He popped the cork out and drank it all, almost in one go. Meanwhile, Sparrow yanked more bandages out of his pack and set about dressing James's leg. It didn't take long at all for the potions effects to be felt and the throbbing pain lancing up and down his leg faded to almost nothing.

When he was done he sat back on his haunches and then rose to his feet, holding out his hand to help James up. James eyed the offered hand warily for a moment before taking it and letting Sparrow haul him to his feet. Almost immediately he crumpled again, but Sparrow caught him under the arms. "Watch it," he chided casually.

After a moment of wobbling around in Sparrow's grip, James finally managed to regain his footing. "Okay," he said, "I'm... I'm okay. What happened to Herman?"

The both fell silent, listening intently for any sound from their companion. A moment later the not so familiar voice called out weakly for Joey again and they exchanged yet another exasperated look. Without saying anything further they turned and continued on into the cave. James placed his hand once more on Pumpkin's head, suddenly feeling so much safer with the dog at his side.

Herman wasn't that far away. The next little corridor wasn't long and seemed to end in a crude wooden door of some kind that seemed to have been stuck together out of various bits and pieces that the hobbes had found around Rookridge not doubt. James was sure that the circular thing in the centre that he assumed was the handle was actually the wheel from a stagecoach.

"Herman," Sparrow snapped, coming up behind the older man, "What were yeh doin' just runnin' off like that? Are yeh tryin' to get us all killed?"

The little man glanced back over his shoulder but he wasn't going to apologise, apparently. Instead he nodded at the door, a hint of desperation in his movements now. "I can't get this door open, but I'm sure Joey's on the other side. I think he might be hurt. See if you can find another way around, will ya?"

James was ever so very tempted to tell Herman where he could stick his son but Sparrow just huffed and nodded, turning and heading back the way they'd just come. James hesitated, torn between staying with Herman and not straining his injured leg, or going with Sparrow and possibly being attacked again.

He settled on the former, of course.

"Yeh stayin' here then?" Sparrow called over his shoulder as he eyed a narrow corridor Pumpkin had found a little way behind them. James nodded and Sparrow shrugged. "Fair enough. Won't be a minute."

And then he disappeared off into the dark.

James turned his attention back to the door and Herman. He was trying and failing to turn the wheel-cum-door handle and seemed to be getting more and more distressed with each failed attempt. James considered offering his help... and then decided against it. He was injured after all. He wasn't going to do himself further damage fighting with some door.

Of course, when Herman turned those stupid watery begging eyes on him and asked for help, his spluttered refusals didn't last long.

He positioned himself on one side of the wheel while Herman took his place on the other side. "All right," Herman said, nodding at James, "On three. One, two, _three_."

Herman pushed and James pulled and very slowly the wheel began to turn, creaking around stiffly. James bit his lower lip and pulled just a little harder, hoping desperately that he wouldn't get splinters.

And then the door was open. James staggered away from it, touching his injured leg tentatively and hoping that somehow opening the door hadn't hurt it. He wasn't sure how such a thing would happen, but he wouldn't have been surprised if it did.

Something started crying unnaturally behind him and he froze, leaning against the wall.

"Joey?" Herman asked as James whipped around. He couldn't see past the skinny little man but he was sure that whatever was behind him was not a child.

"Um... Herman..." he started weakly, but Herman wasn't listening. Instead he was approaching something, holding his hands out.

"There now. It's alright. It's me, Joey, your dad-" Herman cut off abruptly and his steps paused. "Joey? What are you- Oh god!"

Before James realised what was happening, Herman fell backwards, stumbling over his own feet and collapsing to the floor. Something leapt onto him – something very hobbe-like – and then James turned away. He couldn't watch but he heard everything; Herman's screams, the hobbe's vicious laughter, wood splintering somewhere in the distance and the horribly wet sounds as the evil little creature that might have once been Joey tore at Herman's flesh.

He barely registered the sound of footsteps before a gunshot rang out and startled him into turning around. Sparrow was standing there, over Herman's now dead body, gun in hand. His face was mostly blank, except for a little flicker of absolute unease.

"Joey?" he asked James, not even raising his head. James gave a jerky little nod.

"Yes, I... I think so."

Sparrow didn't respond for a long moment. Eventually he stepped over both Herman and the hobbe's bodies and moved over to James's side. "Yeh a'right?" he asked, distractedly. James nodded again. "Good. We need to get outta here, but there are more hobbes in the cave up ahead. A lot more. Stay here until I get back. Understand?"

"I understand," James repeated hollowly, keeping his gaze lowered and very firmly away from Herman. After a moment, Sparrow left again, Pumpkin right at his heels.

Immediately James slumped against the stone wall, ignoring the way the rocks dug into his back and sank to his knees. These last few hours – had it really only been five hours since he'd left Bowerstone? – had been arguably the worst of his life and depressingly the only good thing about them had been Sparrow. He still despised the man but as he sat there, huddled up in the cold stone tunnel, listening the sounds of battle to his left, he found himself counting the seconds until Sparrow came back. There was no denying that he had a way of making him feel safe.

Eventually the sounds of battle died away and Sparrow reappeared again. James didn't lift his head. Instead he continued to stare blankly at the wall opposite, not even aware of the silent tears that were creeping down his cheeks. He wanted to go home. He wanted his mother and he wanted his bed and he wanted his life to be normal again.

"Hey," Sparrow said, snapping his fingers under James's nose, "Pull yerself together. We've still got a ways to go until we're in Oakfield yet."

James slowly lifted his head to look up at Sparrow. The older boy was standing there, just watching him. After a moment he held out a hand again to help James back onto his feet. James didn't even hesitate this time, taking it the instant it was offered and allowing Sparrow to haul him up. This time, Sparrow didn't release his hand and continued to hold it as he dragged James brusquely through the last stretch of the cave. James would never have admitted it, but he was thankful for that little contact, even with someone like Sparrow and he clung to it as they finally found their way out of the Hobbe's Hellhole.

* * *

Once again, I hadn't expected the Hobbe Cave bit to last a whole other chapter. v.v Still, since they are in Oakfield now updates should come faster.


	9. Chapter 9

D:

D:D:

D:D:D:

I hear by swear to never again promise quicker updates. I only ever jinx myself.

D:

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**Chapter Nine**

When they finally arrived in Oakfield James mood had improved somewhat. However, that improvement only served to cause his absolute hatred of Sparrow to resurface once again. They had walked nonstop for the last thirteen hours and James was about ready to collapse from hunger and exhaustion. Of course it was all Sparrow's fault. Just because _he_ was used to travelling on foot.

The sun was shining merrily in the sky as they traipsed down the road towards the town, both limping badly with their identical leg wounds. Only Pumpkin seemed to be none the worse for wear and he trotted along beside them with his tongue lolling out of one side of his mouth.

As they approached a cottage at the end of the road a very large man with a very non-threatening moustache stepped forward to greet them. James stopped mid step and edged behind Sparrow. Force of habit, he told himself. The journey had left him a nervous wreck and even the sight of a sheriff made him wary.

"Good day!" the sheriff said, tilting his head to them in greeting. For a moment he paused, eyeing the state both boys were in. Thankfully he said nothing about it and continued, "Wasn't expecting to see two new faces in town today."

Pumpkin, who had been exploring the coach house, came bounding over to them once again, perking his ears up at the sight of the sheriff.

"Three new faces even!" the sheriff corrected himself, "Well, I'm Bill and I'm the sheriff around here. Just so you know, I won't tolerate any trouble making in my town, is that clear?"

James shot a wry smirk at Sparrow out of the corner of his eye. "Think you can manage that?" he muttered. Sparrow shot him a similar look but said nothing in return.

"That said," Bill went on, "I hope you enjoy your stay... Er, the inn is just down the road, past the watermill. I don't know but I get the feeling you two could do with some rest."

"Thank you," James said quickly, relieved at the idea of actually being able to crawl under a soft warm blanket and sleep for the next twelve hours. He didn't even care that it was the middle of the day. He just wanted to _rest_.

"Have a good'n," Bill replied, tipping his hat before turning and making his way back off towards town. James and Sparrow watched him go and then focused their gazes upon one another again.

"I just hope they have two rooms this time," James said stiffly after a moment. Sparrow snorted in apparent muted amusement and they followed after the sheriff towards town.

The inn was obvious enough as they made their way along the little dirt tracks through the fields. Besides the small number of houses dotted around the place it seemed to be the only other building in all of Oakfield. James and Sparrow walked side by side in silence, much like they had ever since they'd escaped from the hobbe cave. They crossed the bridge and finally came to a stop in front of the Sandgoose.

"This is it then," Sparrow said, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops, "I believe this is where yeh said we parted ways?"

James nodded, crossing his arms across his chest uncomfortably. "Yes, I suppose it is." He glanced at the villagers milling about around them before his gaze reluctantly returned to Sparrow. He supposed it made a nice change that Sparrow wasn't leering at him. Perhaps he was more tired than he'd let on. "Well then. Good bye and... well, thank you for helping me."

"Ah, yeh welcome," Sparrow replied, shrugging carelessly. James nodded one, briskly before edging past Sparrow and heading into the inn. "See yeh later, Pumpkin," Sparrow added cheerfully.

"It's James!" he snapped, without even breaking his stride.

- - -

To James' relief, there was a room available for him and he snapped it up in an instant, this time unfazed by the price thanks to his own somewhat unremarkable savings. He'd vanished into the bedroom, kicked off his shoes and crawled beneath the thick, somewhat scratchy sheets. They weren't nearly as nice as what he was used to, but right then he couldn't have cared less. He was asleep in moments.

He only awoke when the sounds of someone thumping about in the room next door caught his attention. Stirring beneath his blankets, James lifted his head groggily and scowled at the open doorway, wondering who could possibly be making such a racket. He supposed it was probably Sparrow and since his dreams had been filled with hobbes and dogs and bloody pumpkins, he had every intention of having it out with the 'hero'.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, James climbed to his feet, only to very nearly topple to the ground the moment he did so. He hissed a breath in through his teeth and closed his eyes tightly as he waited for the pain to fade. Evidently, the potion Sparrow had given him had worn off.

As the pain receded, James got to his feet again, more carefully this time and limped towards the door. He paused to put his shoes back on but then dismissed it. He'd had a pedicure recently and the floors were oddly well polished for such a rural town so there was no need. Instead he simply continued on his way to the next room.

Convinced as he was that the person next door was Sparrow, James was really rather surprised when he hobbled through the doorway only to be greeted with the sight of a very peculiar looking man. The stranger looked up, blinking hugely at him over his large nose.

"Oh," James said and hating himself for sounding almost disappointed, "Terribly sorry. I thought someone else was in here."

The man smiled quirkily and shook his head. "No, no, it's quite alright. A perfectly fathomable bloomer to make." He reached up and fiddled with a pair of goggles he wore strapped to the top of his head, reminding James – rather unnecessarily – that he wasn't quite normal. He thought he should probably leave but there was something frighteningly fascinating about the strange man that kept him rooted to the spot.

Noticing that James didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave, the odd man smiled a bit wider and took a step forward. "The name's Barnum." He held out his hand to James to shake. For a long moment all James did was stare at the hand like it was personally offending to him, but eventually he took it and gave it a tentative little shake.

"James."

"Wondrous to meet you, James!" Barnum burst out loudly, drowning James's little shake with an excited one of his own. "I don't believe I've seen you in town before. Just arrived have you?"

James nodded, carefully extracting his hand from Barnum's. "Yes, I just got here from Rookridge. I'm still rather tired so perhaps I should..."

"Rookridge?" Barnum asked cheerfully. "So you saw the bridge then? Marvellous, isn't it? I acquired the deeds from some shady fellow a few days ago. Barely cost me anything!"

Pausing in his slow backwards retreat from the room, James blinked at Barnum in surprise. "You own the bridge?" he asked. Barnum nodded, his head bobbing up and down like a fishing hook in water. Well, this was awkward. "Um, hate to be the bearer of bad news and all that but... I'm afraid your bridge has been a bit... blown up?"

The cheerful expression faded from Barnum's face to be replaced with a confused frown. "Blown up?"

"As in 'destroyed', yes," James replied, backing up until he was hovering just outside the doorway.

"Oh, but- but this is- this is calamitous!" He fixed James with a worried, droopy eyed stare. "You are sure it was my bridge, aren't you? You couldn't be erroneous?"

"Is your bridge the bridge next to the coach house and the inn?"

Barnum's face fell and his shoulders slumped forward. "Oh."

Now feeling thoroughly awkward, James glanced around and took a single small step back towards his own room. "Well, I'm sorry about your bridge... I'll, er, just leave you now... Bye."

And with that he vanished back into the safety of his bed.

After snuggling down beneath the sheets again, James listened closely to the sound of Barnum's footsteps pacing around in his room, before finally leaving and heading out into the tavern proper. James felt a vague pang of pity for the strange little man, but it was fleeting and before he knew it he drifted off again, lulled to sleep by the steady hum of voices from outside.

- - -

When he woke the second time it was early evening and he felt fully refreshed, if still somewhat sore. Yawning and stretching he pushed back the sheets and sat up. He could hear people talking and laughing outside of his window. It was a pleasant sound and he simply sat there for a few moments listening. It was certainly more peaceful out here than in the city. If it wasn't for his reason for being there, as well as the unfortunate manner of his arrival, James would have almost gone as far as to say he was rather enjoying himself.

As it was though, he had business to attend to.

After getting redressed in his dirty but blessedly dry clothes, James limped out his room and out into the tavern. He hoped the wound in his leg would stop hurting soon.

The tavern was filled with the usual sort of people; men sat at the bar getting blind drunk and swearing emphatically at the bartender about their unfaithful wives and the sheer audacity of that one cow who simply wouldn't be milked; women giggled and danced by the bard who was, quite frankly, _terrible_. James smiled faintly as he passed them by and headed out into the evening air.

It was quieter outside. A few people sat around talking and one man seemed to be pulling his hair out in quiet frustration at the gambling table. Children ran around in the field to the side of the tavern, playing. And there was Sparrow, perched on the wall of the bridge directly opposite where James was standing, watching him. Pumpkin was lying at his feet with a ball between his paws. When he spotted James he lifted his head and wagged his tail lazily.

For a while, none of them moved. Sparrow continued to stare, the corner of his mouth slowly pulling upwards into a smirk while James became more and more flustered. Eventually though it was Pumpkin who broke the staring match. He picked up his ball and waddled over to James, wagging his tail hard enough to make his entire back end sway back and forth. He stopped directly in front of James and dropped the ball at his feet, looking up at him expectantly.

James gave the ball an awkward sideways glance. It was slimy and covered in bits of grass and mud. There was no way he was even going to consider picking that up. He toed it away and shook his head at Pumpkin. "No. Go away. Go ask him." He nodded venomously in Sparrow's direction.

Sparrow, however, seemed to take that as an invitation to approach. James huffed and stood his ground, glaring at Sparrow half-heartedly. Sparrow shot a wry grin at him before plucking the ball off the ground – slimy grass and all – and tossed it down the road and into the river. Pumpkin yelped in excitement and went tearing off after it.

"So... James," Sparrow started, still watching Pumpkin who had just leapt into the water after his ball. James did not like his tone of voice at all, "I was wonderin' if yeh could do me a favour?"

Bristling with displeasure, James folded his arms and hunched up his shoulders. "What kind of favour?" he asked warily. God help him it was any kind of sexual favour... he remembered what Sparrow had said to him in the inn back in Bowerstone and promptly shut down that train of thought.

Curiously enough, Sparrow actually looked sheepish for a moment before he flattened that expression with a more usual grin. "How well can yeh cook?"

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Le Gaspe! The audacity of him. o_o


	10. Chapter 10

I wuv you gais... :3 Seriously, thanks for all the reviews.

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**Chapter Ten**

"I beg your pardon?" James sputtered, tilting his head in disbelief and confusion. "You want me to do what for you?"

"Yeh heard me. I said I want yeh to cook for me," Sparrow replied, placing his hands on his hips casually. He gave a little shrug. "Think it's the least yeh owe me, considerin'."

"Considering what?" James growled, crossing his arms across his chest and ignoring the curious looks a small group of young women nearby were giving them.

Sparrow grinned a sharp, feral smile and took a step closer, leaning right into James personal space. "Considerin' I spent the best part of yesterday and last night tryin' to keep yeh alive perhaps? I think it's a fair trade." His gaze slid down James' body slowly, making the smaller man shift uncomfortably. "Yeh don't get somethin' for nothin' in this world... _James_. And yeh know..." he reached out and stroked the back of his hand down James' chest and stomach, making James jump back slightly in surprise, "There are worse things I could ask of yeh."

Besides the not so subtle insinuation behind what Sparrow said, James was quick to pick up on the casual threat in Sparrow's tone of voice. After what he'd seen in the journey through Rookridge James didn't doubt that Sparrow could and would hurt or frighten him to get what he wanted. Even if what he wanted was just a bowl of soup.

Defeated and now considerably more nervous in Sparrow's presence, James sighed and nodded. "_Fine_. I'll cook for you, but don't you dare complain if you don't like it," he muttered begrudgingly. "Where are you staying? God help me, you do have proper cooking equipment, don't you?"

Looking pleased with himself, Sparrow nodded and clapped a hand down on James' shoulder, leading him away from the inn and out into the street. "Ah, whatever yeh make's bound to be better'n what I make. Last time I tried to cook I set my caravan on fire." The threatening tone from before was now completely non-existent and James had to wonder just how worried he ought to be by Sparrow's temperamental attitude.

They walked through the lanes between the fields, Pumpkin weaving his way between their feet and occasionally dashing off to chase rabbits. The further they got from the inn, the quieter it became until the sound of voices and music was nothing but a low rumble in the background. Sparrow's hand never once left James' shoulder.

"Are you camping in one of the fields or something?" James eventually asked, mostly because the silence was unsettling him but also because he was actually curious. "Only there was already someone else in the other room at the inn."

"Nah," Sparrow replied, shrugging slightly, "I bought a house."

The sheer absurdity of that statement took James a long moment to unravel, but when he finally succeeded he shot an incredulous look over his shoulder at Sparrow. "You _bought_ a_ house_?"

Sparrow raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Um, yeah? That's what I said, innit?"

James sputtered for a moment, his nervousness momentarily forgotten at having his world view shaken in such a way. Eventually he remembered how to speak, or at least how to protest. "But you're _poor. Poor_ people don't just buy houses. Even in Oakfield houses are too expensive for _poor_ people." He suddenly fixed Sparrow with an icy glare. "Are you squatting in someone's house? I'm not cooking anything for a squatter."

Sparrow snorted and shook his head, grinning. "I'm not _that_ poor."

"Well, where did you get the money from?" James demanded, still not at all convinced that a gypsy could be in possession of money at all. The notion was simply absurd after all.

As they approached a small, two story house in front of a windmill, Sparrow fixed James with a teasing look. "I got it the way normal people do. By workin'. At the blacksmith's in Bowerstone." And there was that horrible, vindictive smirk again and James instinctively braced himself for impact. "But yeh already knew that, didn't yeh Pumpkin?"

Not bothering to wait for an answer, Sparrow headed into the house, leaving James in the front garden blushing hard enough he was surprised his ears didn't bleed. Sparrow had seen him? Oh god, he was never going to live that down. In fact, the ocean was right there, perhaps he should go and drown himself and save himself the humiliation of being forced to spend the evening with the man he'd been caught ogling.

"Oi!" Sparrow called out the door. "Yer not gonna stand out there all night, are yeh?"

Still a horribly embarrassing shade of red James hurried inside after Sparrow, vowing to not look at the other man at all if he could help it. Sparrow was still going around the house lighting candles and turning on the gas lamps so James simply made a bee line for the cupboards. After a quick search he found a good number of various vegetables in decent condition.

"Is vegetable soup alright?" he asked over his shoulder as Sparrow did something around the corner that sounded an awful lot like stabbing a fire with a poker.

"That's fine," Sparrow called back distractedly. That was just as well, since soup was just about all James was capable of making.

As he set about washing and peeling the vegetables in the sink Sparrow finished attacking the fire and returned to the kitchen. James didn't turn around but he heard Sparrow sit down in one of the chairs under the windows. He was suddenly very self conscious about the fact he wasn't wearing his coat. If that insufferable man was looking anywhere near his-

"Yer trousers are very tight, ain't they?" Sparrow said, casually enough. James almost peeled his own hand in shock. "Like, _really_ tight."

"They are _not_ that tight," he snapped over his shoulder. His voice was just a little too shrill for his liking.

Sparrow snickered. "They are, though. At least around yer arse."

This time James did peel his own hand, or rather, he nicked his thumb badly enough to make him curse quite colourfully under his breath. When he was done, he rounded on Sparrow – looking at the man was a sacrifice he was willing to pay just to stop Sparrow from staring at his backside – and glared at him as viciously as he could. "Must you be so crude?"

"Aye," Sparrow replied, with a cheerful little smile. Pumpkin chose that moment to walk in with a dead rabbit in his mouth, which he dropped at Sparrow's feet. He plopped himself down beside his master's chair and wagged his tail, looking between the two of them with a happily confused expression on his face. "Yeh don't get somethin' for nothin', James."

James bristled, not quite able to believe what he was hearing. Sparrow really wasn't about to let this go, was he? "I don't know what you're talking about," he bit out.

Sparrow's expression turned sly, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, aye yeh do..." he said in an almost playful tone, "I'm talkin' about you, last week, watchin' me at the blacksmith's."

"I wasn't watching you," James muttered weakly, turning back to the sink again to hide his bright red face. "I was... I was just..."

"Yeh were watchin' me," Sparrow insisted lightly.

James hissed in frustration. "Well, if it's any consolation if I'd known it was you I wouldn't have!" he snapped. Behind him he heard Sparrow chuckle.

"Now that just ain't nice," he said – almost purred – and the chair creaked as he stood up. James stiffened, his shoulders trembling with nervous tension as Sparrow approached him from behind. Each step Sparrow took was slow and calculated, making James feel very much like he was being stalked. Sparrow eventually stopped right behind James, so close that James could feel the toe of Sparrow's boot against the back of his heel. "What's the matter James? Don't yeh like me?"

James could almost hear the smirk in Sparrow's voice.

"No, I don't." He savagely attacked an eye in one of the potatoes he was peeling. "And if you even have to ask why-"

"Why?"

James dropped the knife and potato back into the sink and spun around to face Sparrow, only to find himself nose to nose with the other man. Well. Nose to throat. "Why?" he repeated incredulously. "How about the fact that you are the single crudest person I've met? Or that you seem to lace everything you say with lewd innuendos? Perhaps it's because you _kissed me_?"

Sparrow's grinned widened so much so that James was convinced he could see every single one of his teeth. "So that's what yer so tetchy about," he said. "It was only a kiss James."

"It was my _first_ kiss."

The grin fell of Sparrow's face only to be replaced with an expression that was much, much worse. James had seen it before, on his father's more lecherous friends, usually aimed at young ladies but also occasionally at him and a few other young men. However, on those men it just looked disgusting. On Sparrow it was positively terrifying. James felt an inexplicable urge to check he was still dressed.

"D-do you want me to make this soup for you or not..?" he finally stammered out, desperate to turn Sparrow's attention to something that wasn't him.

Sparrow didn't reply for a long moment but eventually he smiled and tilted his head in acquiescence, taking a few steps back and giving James his personal space back. With a tiny sigh of relief, James went back to preparing the soup and trying to ignore the feeling of being watched.

The soup took unbearably long to finish cooking and by the time it was done James' nerves were shot to hell. Sparrow hadn't said anything else the whole time and the silence had done more to unsettle James than Sparrow's unsubtle flirting had. He quickly retrieved a bowl from one of the cupboards and ladled some soup out for Sparrow. The other young man was already seated at the table, his head resting on one hand as he watched every move James made. James placed the bowl down in front of Sparrow, refusing to meet the gypsy's eyes.

"Does this mean my debt is repaid?" James asked, folding his arms and staring very firmly out of the window. The moon was up now. He'd have to walk back to the inn in the dark.

Sparrow was silent a little longer as he tasted the soup and then he smiled. "Aye, I'll let yeh off this time."

"Good," James replied stiffly. "Well then, I'll be going now." He hesitated, unsure what else to say, if anything. This whole trip had been terribly awkward. "I'll... I'll, um. Goodbye."

He made a beeline for the door but just as he was about to step outside into the night air, Sparrow's chair scraped against the floor loudly and the next thing he knew he was pinned against the wall by the door with Sparrow's face inches away from his own.

"Sparrow-" he started to say, but he was cut off by a quick, fleeting kiss. Sparrow pulled away and when James didn't say anything he simply grinned and patted James' cheek playfully.

"Thanks for the soup," he said, before spinning away and returning to his meal.

James stood frozen by the wall for a long minute before slowly peeling himself away and stepping outside. He walked slowly down the paths that Sparrow had herded him along before whilst very adamantly not thinking about what Sparrow had just done.

* * *

:D Sparrow is more perceptive than you gave him credit for, Jamie dearest.


	11. Chapter 11

Tch. I took another month to update. I really do not rock my own socks right now.

**

* * *

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**Chapter Eleven**

The next morning James was up bright and early at the positively ghastly hour of ten o'clock and heading off on his way to the Temple of Light. He had his meagre savings stashed away in a bag at his hip to offer if the Abbott didn't feel like helping him for nothing. _'Yeh don't get somethin' for nothin'_,' Sparrow's voice chimed in his head, before James promptly shut it out.

It was a deceptively nice day as James padded along the winding dirt track. Sunlight bathed the grass and the white-barked tree trunks. Birds chirped cheerfully in the canopy of leaves above a ruin to the right of the path. The sound of the water running off the water wheel behind him was a steady relaxing rumble. Yes. He had a good feeling about today.

Despite the rather unpleasant discovery of a number of crushed beetles littering the path the short trip was uneventful. He greeted the few monks he met pleasantly – it was probably a good idea to ingratiate himself with them if he was going to convince them to help him after all – and hurried up the hill.

The Temple of Light had never inspired any feelings of awe in James the few times he'd visited in the past. Even as a child he'd held the monks in contempt. He'd never understood how anyone could willingly spend their lives trapped inside those itchy robes, abstaining from all the wonderful things in life. He hoped that none of them remembered some of his ruder remarks from those past visits.

As he approached the entrance to the small temple two monks stalked past him, muttering to one another. James hesitated for a moment to glance back at them and it was just as well he had. When he turned back to the temple he froze mid step, eyes fixed on a _very_ familiar young man who was standing inside talking to the Abbott. James skittered to the side, hiding outside the door behind one of the small braziers that stood either side of the entrance.

"-not a bloody popularity contest, yeh know," he heard Sparrow snap. "What does it matter if yeh know me or not? I can still kill things better'n anyone yeh _know_. "

"Yes, I understand," the Abbott replied, "But even so I only have your word for that." Sparrow began to object again but the Abbott rode over him calmly. "Listen. The bandits in Rookridge have been causing trouble for the town lately. Perhaps if you were to deal with them I'd be more inclined to trust you."

There was a long pause and then, "...Bandits?" Sparrow asked in much the same tone a sullen child might use after being told he could have apple pie if he ate all his carrots. "Well... I suppose I can do that for yeh."

"Excellent!" the Abbott replied, sounding more relieved than pleased. "You should ask at the inn. Most of the villagers will be there when they aren't working, and they do so like to gossip. I'm sure you'll find the information you need."

Sparrow muttered something else which James didn't catch and a moment later Pumpkin came prancing out of the door. James flattened himself against the wall, just in time to hide himself from Sparrow's sight. He glowered at Sparrow's back venomously as he made his way down the path, silently cursing him and all of his future descendants. Not Pumpkin though. He had to admit, he rather liked the dog, and besides, there were few enough of the creatures left in Albion as it was.

Once Sparrow was out of sight, James straightened up and smoothed down his clothing. With a little sniff of disdain aimed at Sparrow he turned on his heel and strode into the temple, his heels clicking smartly against the stone flooring. The Abbott was kneeling in front of the large stone effigy of a monk at the opposite end of the room, his head bowed.

"Excuse me," James said as he approached and the Abbott twitched in surprise, lifting his head and looking back over his shoulder. James smiled, a bright but fake, dazzling smile that he usually saved for trying to convince his father's friends not to molest him, "Are you the Abbott?"

The old man carefully climbed to his feet again, wobbling a little, and turned to face James. "Yes, I am the Abbott. How can I help you, my child?"

Having not thought this far ahead, James paused to think about how best to word his plea. Of course, he'd never been especially bright and while he could be charming when the situation called for it, it wasn't for his stunning wit and intellect. So, in the end he settled for letting his smile quiver slightly, before fading into a worried frown. As he lowered his gaze sadly he caught the sudden softening of the Abbott's expression and he almost grinned with satisfaction. Evidently this had been the right idea.

"I'm very sorry to bother you," he said meekly, wringing his hands in front of his chest, "But... well, I have a problem and I don't know who else to turn to."

The Abbott tilted his head sympathetically and placed a hand on James' shoulder. "Well, you did the right thing, asking for help. Come. Let's take a walk outside and you can tell me what's on your mind."

James nodded quietly, managing a small, uncertain smile, but as the Abbott made his way out of the temple, James following at his heels, the smile grew into a deeply triumphant grin. This was going very well indeed.

- - -

After explaining the situation to the Abbott, standing in the grassy field beside the large pond outside of the temple, James was convinced he done enough to guarantee help. He'd carefully made sure to illustrate his father's increasingly irrational behaviour, exaggerated the extent of the hounding his family was suffering from the Temple of Shadows, and made a point of pausing every now and then in his story to stop and sniffle sadly, or look away with an expression of grave worry. The Abbott nodded at all the right places, looking more and more sympathetic with every word that came out of James' mouth.

So when the old man looked him dead in the eye and said, "I am very sorry James, but there's nothing we can do," James' mouth literally fell open in shock.

He was silent for a long moment, not quite sure what to make of this, before finally sputtering, "I _beg_ your pardon?"

The Abbott shook his head, spreading his hands in front of him acquiescently. "I do wish there was something we could do, but the Temple of Shadows is simply too powerful for us to do much. We've had our own problems with them as of late, and they've proven extremely aggressive. As we can't risk the village should they decide to attack, I'm afraid the only help I can offer is bringing your father here. Perhaps prayer will guide him back to the Light?"

James' right eye twitched in disbelief and he balled his fists at his sides. This simply was not acceptable. "I have money," he spat out after a long moment. "It isn't much but-"

Shaking his head, the Abbott fixed James with a genuinely apologetic gaze. "I'm _sorry_, but there really is nothing we can do. If you wish to donate, feel free, but no matter how much you give us, we are just as helpless against the Shadows as your father is. I'd recommend saving it. Use it to hire a bodyguard to protect your family, perhaps." He inclined his head slightly, "I'll pray for your safety." And with that, he turned and left.

Left alone standing by the water, James watched the Abbott retreat into the Temple, absolutely seething with fury and disbelief. How _dare_ he deny him help? There had to be _something_ the Temple could do. Hell, what did they do with all that money people were always donating to them? Couldn't they _loan_ the money to his father? Surely it would be better to be in debt to the Temple of Light than to the Temple of Shadows?

For a moment he considered following the Abbott and demanding help, but after a moment's deliberation he decided that that would be terribly undignified. With an angry (and not a little frightened) sniff, he turned on his heel and promptly marched off down the path back towards the village, this time making absolutely no effort to make a good impression on the monks.

By the time he'd reached the inn once again the anger had faded to a dull throb in the back of his mind. The anxiety over what he was supposed to do next was much more prevalent. His only idea had been to ask the Abbott for help, and since he was so adamant that there was nothing that he could do for them, James was at a loss.

Worry chewed at him as he made his way back into the inn to pay for his room for another night. That was another problem. With the bridge down he had no way of getting home yet. What if something happened while he was gone?

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even notice Sparrow standing in front of him until he very nearly walked face first into his chest. Startled, he stumbled back a step and began to apologise distractedly, right up until he realised who it was. "Oh," he said, his voice quite clearly carrying the bitterness and embarrassment from the night before, "It's you."

"Aye," Sparrow replied, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "It's me. Fancy that."

James said nothing in favour of simply standing there and glowering at Sparrow. The larger boy was blocking his way and didn't seem to be in a hurry to move. After a long moment of standing there, glaring at him, James eventually asked, "Are you going to let me past?"

Sparrow cocked his head, almost managing to pull off an innocent expression. "I was waitin' for _you_ to let _me_ past."

Sputtering quietly, James slammed his hands down on his hips and shook his head. "No, you should let me past. It really is the least you can do, considering the trauma you've inflicted on me over the past few days."

"Trauma?" Sparrow repeated, laughing suddenly. "All I did was kiss yeh." He said it loud enough that two young women sitting nearby turned to stare at them with wide, doe eyes. James was sure he died a little inside.

"Will you be _quiet_," he growled under his breath, his expression utterly mortified. "I don't need all and sundry knowing the liberties you've been taking with my mouth."

Sparrow's eyes flashed and James immediately regretted his wording. "Oh, trust me Pumpkin, there are worse liberties I coulda taken with yer mouth."

The sudden burn in James' face was enough to tell him that he'd gone an incredibly shameful shade of red and he stepped to the side, out of Sparrow's path immediately. "_You are a pervert_," he said, managing to channel all of his disbelief and embarrassment into that one little sentence. Sparrow just shrugged as he stepped past, an idle little smile dancing around his lips.

"Yeh say that, but yer the one jumpin' to conclusions about what I meant, Pumpkin," he said over his shoulder casually. The heat in James' face intensified until he was sure he was going to pass out.

"My name is _James_," he finally snapped back, albeit weakly. Sparrow only laughed at that as he left the inn, not once looking back at James.

* * *

Once again, sorry for the wait. Hopefully the next chapter should make up for it. :3


	12. Chapter 12

A bit of relationship building. Enjoy it while it lasts. o__o

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

The next day, James was pleased to see that there was no sign of Sparrow in Oakfield and while the lack of offensive gypsy helped him relax a little, the constant nagging thought that he couldn't get home yet buzzed in the back of his mind, like a particularly persistent wasp. As hard as he tried, he simply couldn't find anything to occupy his thoughts and distract him from his worries. By the time the afternoon had rolled around he finally gave in to the urge to find out where Sparrow was, but some unskilful spying on his house determined that he wasn't home.

After returning to the inn, not feeling in the _slightest_ bit disappointed that Sparrow didn't seem to be in town, he bumped into Barnum again, to the side of the stairs on the way back to his room. After a short, flustered conversation with the peculiar little man, James managed to garner a tiny sliver of information from the nonsensical words tumbling out of the other man's mouth.

"You know Sparrow?" he asked, stopping his attempts to skitter past Barnum to frown at him in confusion. Barnum nodded.

"Oh yes. I've known him since he was a just a bairn. I must say, he hasn't half grown. Hoo! Anyway, why do you ask?"

The idea of Sparrow as a child threw James for a loop, but he recovered quickly. "Oh, no reason in particular. I was just... he sort escorted me here, after a fashion. I was just wondering where he is today."

Barnum seemed to perk up for no reason that James could discern at that. "Why, I believe I do know where he's gone. You remember the persnickety little detail of my bridge being blown to smithereens, yes?" James nodded warily. "Well, it can't be repaired until the bandits in Rookridge are _shooed_ away, so he's gone to contendify with the problem. He should be back tomorrow night or the day after, if you wanted to speak with him about something."

Quickly shaking his head, James took a step back from Barnum. "No, no, I was just wondering. It was nice talking to you again," he added, hoping Barnum would get the hint and let him go about his business. It seemed that he did and he stepped to the side to allow James past.

"It was superberous to see you again too, young James." Barnum replied as James scuttled by to his room.

- - -

The day after that was much the same. James didn't leave his room other than to buy something to eat and drink occasionally, instead spending most of the day reading the unimpressive selection of books in his room. His was worried about his parents, lonely and bored to boot.

As evening set in, the street lamps being lit outside and casting a soft, warm light through the window of his room, James was just about ready to nod off. He wasn't tired, just exceptionally bored, and the only decent thing left to do was sleep as far as he was concerned. Just as he was begin to drift, however, a familiar voice caught his attention and dragged him reluctantly back to consciousness.

Somewhere, under the faint drone of voices in the tavern, James could hear Sparrow talking. He lifted his head and peered at the door curiously, thinking about going out to investigate. He had no desire to speak to Sparrow, oh no, but he was curious as to whether the bandits had been cleared out of Rookridge. Or at least that was what he was telling himself as he climbed off his bed, still dressed in his normal clothing as he wasn't about to strip in a room with no _door_, and went out into the tavern to look for Sparrow.

At first he couldn't spot the gypsy adventurer anywhere, but then the sound of Barnum's voice, just as distinctive as Sparrow's, made him look up. Sure enough, on the small balcony to the left of the stairs stood Sparrow, talking to Barnum in a self satisfied, content tone of voice. James folded his arms across his chest and watched, waiting for the conversation to be done, mostly so he could avoid talking to Barnum again, who seemed to be extremely pleased about something. There were a few brief words of thanks exchanged before Barnum handed over two things to Sparrow. James couldn't see what they were, but as Sparrow looked at the first of them his eyebrow arched slightly with his usual wry amusement.

However, his demeanour changed completely when he shifted his attention to the second thing. The smile slipped from his face to be replaced with an almost pained look. Barnum seemed to be completely unaware of this and after thanking Sparrow one more time, he edged passed him and made his way to the upstairs bar. Sparrow, however, didn't move, just stared at the thing in his hand for a good long while. James frowned, wondering what it was that could have possibly bothered Sparrow so much, and was debating approaching him when the older boy suddenly snapped out of his trance like state with a little shake of his head.

James ducked back out of sight as Sparrow stomped down the stairs and eyed him warily as he stalked out of the building and into the night. He hovered where he was for a long moment, wondering whether to follow or not. It seemed like a bad idea since he generally didn't like Sparrow at the best of times and stalking him when he was in a foul mood didn't seem like the smartest move. However, his curiosity was piqued and after the frankly _awful_ two days he'd just had with absolutely nothing to occupy him, following Sparrow seemed like a wonderful idea.

So he did.

As he'd been expecting, Sparrow had headed across the bridge towards his home, but instead of following the path like any _normal_ person would have, he'd hopped over the fence and was halfway across one of the barley fields by the time James had spotted him. Wincing at the muddy ground, James considered going back, before deciding his shoes were ruined enough anyway. He padded over to the stile and climbed over, creeping after Sparrow, mostly so as not to fall, rather than to be quiet. His feet squelched softly, but Sparrow seemed to be too far ahead to hear it.

The worn path through the field seemed to be a short cut to Sparrow's house, but instead of continuing straight through, he turned to the right and climbed over a gap in the stone wall. James ducked down behind the tall barley so as not to be seen. He decided to spy from there and watched Sparrow make his way up to a small hill on which the stump of a tree stood. Once he was there he just stopped and folded his arms across his chest, staring out over the ocean.

James crouched there uncertainly for a while. The curiosity as to what was bothering Sparrow so was getting to him again, and as much as his mind nagged that it was time to go back and that he was pushing his luck, he still found himself straightening up and following Sparrow.

After carefully stepping over the odd, thorny bush that was growing in the gap in the wall, he padded up along the path and up onto the hill, making a point of still trying to be quiet. He paused behind the tree stump – not hiding, you understand – and tentatively said, "Sparrow?"

Sparrow didn't turn to look at him straight away. "Yer not very good at stalkin', James," he finally said after a long moment of silence. His voice was devoid of its usual mocking tone and James was displeased to find that he was concerned by that.

"Yes, well, I've never had much use for that particular skill," he replied, aiming to sound haughty and failing spectacularly. He waited to see if Sparrow had anything to say to that, and when he didn't he continued. "Is something wrong with you? You seem less agreeable than usual, if such a thing is even possible."

That seemed to get a small reaction out of Sparrow. He lowered his head slightly and his shoulders jerked once. For a horrible moment James thought the other man might actually have been crying, but was relieved to see when Sparrow turned to him that he was just laughing at him quietly. "Careful, pretty boy. Yeh gonna start soundin' like yer worried about me."

"Pretty boy?" James replied disbelievingly, stepping out from behind his tree stump a little. "That's new."

Sparrow gave a half-hearted shrug with an equally weak smile, "Well, I was sick of yeh whinin' about bein' called Pumpkin. And I can't call yeh James too much. That'd be givin' yeh what yeh want." He turned back to the ocean – James hadn't noticed before, but it was really quite beautiful – and sat down cross-legged on the ground. "Yeh gonna stand over there all night, or are yeh gonna join me?"

James startled at the offer, and was about to say that he would do neither, but the invitation was too tempting to turn down if it meant he might find out what had fazed Sparrow. After the customary pause as he didn't want to seem _too_ eager, he crossed the last bit of space between them and settled down on the grass, about a foot away from Sparrow.

Neither of them said anything for a while, instead choosing to just watch the water rippling under the moonlight and lapping against the beach below. Eventually though, this became dull to James and he said, "Well, at least my new nickname is more suitable. It hardly seems right to name someone you're so determined to molest after your dog."

Sparrow laughed again, a little more genuinely this time. "Yeah, I suppose so." There was another shorter pause before Sparrow spoke again. "So why did yeh follow me?"

Shrugging slightly, James fixed his gaze on the moon as he replied. It was far larger than he was used to it being. "I was wondering what Barnum had given you that had bothered you so much." He glanced at Sparrow out of the corner of his eye. "Is it rude of me to pry? You might be an absolute bastard, but..." Suddenly looking embarrassed, James averted his gaze, "Well, I don't- I just... I'm not _completely_ heartless." He spat it out all in a rush, looking flustered and mortified to be admitting, albeit in a roundabout kind of way, that he actually cared about Sparrow's feelings to some very tiny degree.

"It's fine," Sparrow replied, shaking his head a little as though to dispel James' worries. "It's nothin' really, just... old memories." He fell back into a melancholy kind of silence and when he showed no signs of talking again, James decided to prompt him.

"Old memories?"

Sparrow blinked, snapping his gaze away from the view. "What? Oh. Right." He shoved a hand into his shirt to retrieve something. James noted that it looked an awful lot like bandit attire and left a wide strip of Sparrow's chest bare. He tried not to look and was thankful that the dark was mostly hiding his blush. "Here," Sparrow finally said, finding what he was looking for. He brandished a small piece of paper at James, who after a moment's hesitation plucked it out of his fingers deftly.

It was difficult to see what was on the paper in the dark, but after a few moments of tilting it around he managed to catch the glow from the streetlight by Sparrow's house. It seemed to be a picture of a young girl and a boy, posing in front of a village scene. James cocked his head in confusion and glanced at Sparrow. "Is this a painting? It's very small."

"Not a paintin'. Barnum made it with a... a-" he paused, clicking his fingers as he tried to grasp at the words he was looking for, "-a picture box or somethin' like that."

James turned back to the picture, more curious now than he had been. He wished it was lighter so he could study it more closely. "So, why did this upset you?"

For a long while, Sparrow didn't reply, and James tore his gaze away from trying to examine the picture to look at him. He was staring down at the docks again, thoughtfully. There was a kind of tightness in his expression that James had seen many times on the young dockworkers in Bowerstone when they'd hurt themselves badly and were trying not to cry. Sparrow, however, wasn't bothering to try and cover it up with an awkward laugh. He was just... quiet. Unconsciously, James found himself shuffling closer to Sparrow, only to be embarrassed when he realised what he'd done.

Shrugging it off, he held the picture out to the other boy. "Sparrow?"

Sparrow lifted his hand to take it back and gazed down at it for a while, some unreadable emotion flickering across his face. James was just about ready to give up on an answer when he finally said, very quietly, "That's my sister and me, the day before she died."

A chill crawled right through James, from the top of his head to the ends of his fingertips. They were only children in that picture. Sparrow couldn't have been more than seven or eight and as for his sister... she only look at most, five years older than him. James didn't even want to think about the circumstances of her death, especially since she looked so healthy in the picture.

They didn't say much to each other after that, just sat together, watching the moon rise slowly above them. Every now and again a jagged black shape on the horizon would catch James attention, and when he glanced at it a feeling of fearful apprehension crept over him. Instead of getting up and leaving, however, he simply lay down on his back and watched the stars. After a few minutes, Sparrow lay back too, folding his arms under his head.

"So, did yeh sort out yer business here?" he asked casually.

James bit his lip, not really wanting to discuss it with Sparrow. The little insight into Sparrow's past, however, made him feel like he was being stingy, so he reluctantly said, "Yes. It didn't go the way I'd been hoping..." He swallowed awkwardly and tilted his head back as far as he could, watching a few stray clouds floating by, since his eyesight wasn't good enough to focus on the stars. "I think I just want to go home now."

"The way through Rookridge is open again," Sparrow said. "The other way, I mean. I'm headed through there tomorrow, if yeh want an escort back."

James snapped his gaze to Sparrow abruptly, frowning. "Well, that's very nice of you, but I refuse to make soup for you again as payment."

Sniggering softly, Sparrow's mood seemed to have lifted. "A kiss should do it?"

"Don't push your luck," James shot back, with a mild warning glare.

"_Fine_," Sparrow replied, trying to sound put out, but now that his usual smug tone was returning, it didn't really work. "Yeh'll just have to owe me a drink."

After a long, hard think about any possible loopholes in that sentence, James very reluctantly decided it was worth the risk. "As long as we don't have to go through the bloody cave again, then fine."

The silence returned for what felt like the dozenth time, but this time, James was almost startled to find it was _companionable_ of all things. He spent a few moments mulling this over and reminding himself that he was not friends with Sparrow, not in the _slightest_. Sometime while he was doing that, the cool breeze and the lazy clouds above him soothed his nerves enough that he drifted off to sleep, right there on the cliff top.

* * *

At least they're getting on better now, right?


	13. Chapter 13

Wow, I'm on a roll. o__o

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

James was woken the next morning by the intrusive golden-red rays of the sun, all the more offensive to his senses without the shield of a curtain or a roof. Wincing against the too bright light, James rolled onto his back and rubbed his hand across his face, trying to wake himself up and to block out the sun in varying degrees. To his surprise, the action was far more difficult than it had any right to be and after a little confused squirming he realised why. He was wrapped up, almost _swaddled_, in a thread bare blanket that he didn't recognise.

He glared at it for a long moment, trying to figure out what he was doing with it. When nothing came to mind he pushed it off him a little and sat up, looking around for clues.

Sparrow was nowhere in sight. He'd probably gone home to sleep. James it seemed, had slept on the cliff top, though sometime during the night someone had moved him away from the edge and left him on a soft patch of new green grass near the wall. Most likely the same person who owned the blanket that was stilled pooled in his lap.

Scowling at it, James decided not to think too hard about Sparrow's – because of course it was Sparrow's - motives for the surprisingly thoughtful gestures. He hadn't had the other boy pegged for the considerate type but then, he'd never seen Sparrow as anything more than a dirty gypsy with a one track mind. Last night, however, had shown him another side of Sparrow he hadn't expected to see. A softer, rawer side.

With a little sigh, James clambered to his feet, swaying slightly from leftover drowsiness. After rubbing his eyes and stretching he folded the blanket over his arm and set off towards Sparrow's house, wincing at the stiffness in his limbs from sleeping on the hard ground.

He wasn't entirely sure what time it was or whether Sparrow would still be sleeping, but he honestly couldn't bring himself to care. He padded up to the front door, casting a sideways glance at Pumpkin who was sprawled dramatically on the grass beside the steps up to the door. Rolling his eyes at the dog fondly, James turned back to the door to wait for Sparrow to answer.

It only took a few seconds for sounds of life to start filtering through the wooden walls and a short moment later Sparrow opened the upper half of the barn door, blinking sleepily. He stared at James for a long while, his long hair falling across his face messily now that it wasn't tied back, before snorting and unlocking the lower half to let James in. "Yer earlier than I was expectin'," he said, turning away from the door and wandering over to the kitchen table to sit down. He yawned loudly as he settled into one of the seats.

"It's difficult to sleep with the sun in your eyes," James replied coolly, following him inside. He placed the folded blanket down on the table in front of Sparrow. "Yours, I presume. You could have just woken me."

"Well, I did try." Sparrow grinned, flicking the corner of the blanket. "But yeh were out for the count. Right heavy sleeper, yeh are."

James rolled his eyes but didn't say anything more on the matter, knowing full well that he could be difficult to wake. Instead he plopped down in the seat opposite Sparrow and folded his arms on the table in front of him. "So what time were you thinking of leaving?"

Sparrow nipped thoughtfully at his thumbnail before leaning back in his seat to look at the grandfather clock by the door. "Well, its seven now, so I reckon if we leave at eight... rest at the inn in Rookridge for a couple of hours... we could be in Bowerstone by noon tomorrow." He shot James an amused glance. "If yeh don't lag behind, that is."

Bristling, James puffed out his chest. "I won't lag behind. I was tired and upset the last time. I'll have you know I can be quite a fast wal-"

Sparrow laughed and held up his hands defensively. "A'right, a'right, I believe yeh." He fell silent again and his fingers twitched slightly like he was counting in his head. This continued for a few minutes as James looked on bewilderedly, before Sparrow finally seemed to return to the real world. He shot James a casual little smile before jerking his head in the direction of the inn. "Yeh'll wanna pick up any stuff yer takin' home with yeh while I'm gettin' ready. Here." He stood up and walked over to a dresser that stood against a wall adjacent to the fireplace. After raking around in the drawers for a moment he returned with a small bag. It made the distinctive chinking sound of coins when he placed it down on the table. "And if it ain't too much trouble, could yeh get some food from the stall on yer way back? Cheese and fruit mostly. Spend whatever's in there."

James didn't realise he was beaming at the gold until Sparrow started laughing at him. He scowled at the gypsy until he finally settled down and wandered off to pack up his things and then plucked up the bag. It was a satisfying weight. Heavy enough to please James but not so heavy that he was worried he'd be tackled into a bush and murdered if someone so much as caught sight of the bag.

After clipping it onto his belt, he rose from his seat and left the house. Halfway down the path back to the inn Pumpkin joined him, shaking off his sleepiness and prancing along at his side happily.

There wasn't much to get from the inn as James hadn't brought much with him. Other than his coat and his savings there was nothing for him to collect. After shucking his coat on and hiding his savings bag in the pocket he set off to the fruit and veg stall. He spent a good long while examining the wares on offer while the stall owner looked on hopefully. Eventually he settled on a couple of lumps of Fairfax Delight, two shiny apples and a pair of hydroponic carrots and, after checking there was enough gold left, he purchased a couple of pieces of tofu for himself. He hated the stuff but he'd heard it was good for the skin. Feeling pleased with himself and perhaps slightly too happy to be spending someone else's money again, he headed back to Sparrow's house with Pumpkin right at his heels.

When he arrived Sparrow was sitting, well, sprawling, on the bench outside of his house, kitted out in his usual brown and back clothing and his weapons. He had his eyes closed and his head tilted back, enjoying the sun and the sea breeze. At the sound of James' footsteps and Pumpkin's excited panting, however, he opened his eyes and lifted his head to smirk at them both lazily. "Did yeh get everything?"

James nodded and held open the little canvas sack so that Sparrow could inspect what he'd bought. After a moment Sparrow nodded in approval and stood up, stretching luxuriously. "Are we ready to go?" James asked, watching the display with a little more interest than was strictly necessary. Sparrow nodded.

"Aye, we might as well. There's no point hangin' around now." He turned on his heel and headed up past his house and through the gate to the area containing a couple of chicken coops. "It's gonna be a long walk so I hope yer feelin' up to it."

James sniffed irritably. "You know, I don't appreciate this lack of faith you have in me. I might not be as- as much of an outdoorsman as you are, but I think I can manage a long walk."

Sparrow glanced over his shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised skeptically. "If yeh say so. Ain't yer leg still hurtin', though?"

It took James a moment to realise what Sparrow was talking about and he glanced down at his leg. "Oh," he said, when he remembered the hobbe bite. "No, actually it's cleared up nicely. The potion was more effective than I thought it would be." He cast a furtive, guilty look in Sparrow's general direction. "Um... thanks."

"No problem," Sparrow replied cheerful. "Just don't get bitten again."

James considered pointing out that if Sparrow had been paying closer attention to him, he wouldn't have been bitten in the first place, but decided that doing so was just liable to start an argument, so he kept it to himself. It didn't seem terribly clever to upset the man who would be protecting him for the next day and night.

- - -

By the time they reached Rookridge it was late evening, raining heavily and was much too dark for James to feel comfortable travelling. Even so, his pride didn't allow him to complain to Sparrow about it, much like it hadn't allowed him to complain about the fact that his feet felt like they were burning to cinders or the fact that the little bit of cheese Sparrow had allowed him to eat so far really wasn't enough to fill him.

As he trailed along behind Sparrow and Pumpkin, silently cursing them both for still seeming so bright and energetic despite the long walk, a bright light caught his attention. As he moved further down the path it soon became obvious what the light was. At the end of long dangerous looking bridge stood the ruin of an old Cathedral. The Temple of Shadows.

James froze mid step, staring at the building with wide, nervous eyes. Oh, how he loathed that place. He'd noticed it on the way to Oakfield as well, but had been too rattled and frightened to think much of it. Now though...

Ahead of him, Sparrow stopped and turned back, frowning in confusion. "Why've yeh stopped?" he asked, before following James' gaze towards the Temple. James didn't see it, but Sparrow's expression darkened with something like possessiveness. "Leave it alone, pretty boy. Not worth the trouble."

James knew that he was right, but as much as he wanted to turn on his heel and run as far away from the horrible place, his determination to try and do something to help his father was making it more difficult than it had to be.

And, of course, his ego recoiled at the very thought of returning from his mission a failure.

"I want to go and talk to them," he said after a long moment, turning to Sparrow. The gypsy raised an eyebrow in disbelief and shook his head, but other than that said nothing. "Please," James pressed, putting on his best desperate expression, "I have to at least _try_ and talk to them."

"They won't listen to yeh, James," Sparrow said, spreading his hands. "Yeh'd be wasting yer time."

James' shoulders slumped momentarily, before he brightened up a little again. "Well, yes, perhaps, but at least I'd be able to find out what my father's gotten himself into exactly." He waited, watching Sparrow hopefully. When the other boy still didn't seem convinced, he added a distressed, "_Please_."

Sighing, Sparrow looked at the Temple, at the steadily rising moon and then shot a wistful look at the inn at the bottom of the hill before finally caving to James' kicked puppy expression. "A'right, but I'm warnin' yeh, James. Yeh'll not come outta there feelin' any better."

Nodding and not really paying any attention to the warning, James smiled timidly as he followed Sparrow across the bridge, sticking closer than he ever had before. Beside him, Pumpkin began to whimper, his ears and tail drooping fearfully. That didn't bolster James' spirit any, but he put a comforting hand on the dog's head. Pumpkin's tail gave a half-hearted wag in response, but he didn't perk up.

As they approached James noticed a man standing outside of the closed gates. At first his bad eyesight made it difficult to pick out any details, but as they got closer, he realised that he was a Shadow Monk. It wasn't all that surprising. What did unsettle James was the red mask he wore. James had seen a handful of Shadow Worshippers in his time, but none of them had worn masks quite like that one. As they came to a stop in front of the stranger, James belatedly realised he was staring and ducked his head, moving to cower behind Sparrow.

The Shadow Monk didn't seem to care. Instead he fixed his gaze on Sparrow. He gave the gypsy a once over before smiling, obviously seeing something there that he liked. James bristled, displeased by that, but tried not to let it show.

"Good evening, sir," the monk suddenly said, in a voice not at all like what James had been expecting. He sounded ever so very posh, like someone James himself would mix with at fancy parties, or the type of person who would attend his mother's fetes. James had been expecting some kind of demonic sounding voice, that would have been far more befitting of someone who tortured and murdered for a hobby. "Could I perhaps interest you in joining the Temple of Shadows?"

Sparrow balked at that and glanced back at James. "Can't we just go in? We just want to talk to someone."

The monk smiled and shook his head. "I'm afraid not, good sir. Only members and their guests are allowed into the Temple proper." When Sparrow still didn't look convinced, the man added, "The admission task is not that difficult. It's just a bit..." The man hesitated, for the first time losing his composure, "...disgusting."

Sparrow frowned and folded his arms. "Oh yeah? Well, what is it?"

Brightening slightly at the prospect of a possible new member, the monk reached into a bag hanging on his belt, which James noted seemed to be moving and... tweeting. That proved to be an entirely accurate observation when the man produced a small, fluffy yellow bird. A baby chick. "You have to... eat... five of these."

"What, _alive_?" Sparrow snapped, looking revolted. The shadow monk nodded. Well, at the least he wasn't a liar. It _was_ disgusting. Sparrow turned his back on the monk to face James. "Do I really have to do this?"

"I'll pay you," James replied weakly. "I'm sorry, Sparrow, but please..."

The huge wobbly eyes seemed to work on Sparrow a second time, and James decided to note that for later use if necessary. After much muttering and scowling and cursing of everything under the sun, Sparrow turned back to the shadow monk and held out his hand. "Give 'em here then."

James couldn't watch. He walked down the bank a little way and covered his ears so he wouldn't have to listen to the poor little birds' distressed tweeting, or Sparrow's retching. He wasn't at all surprised when Pumpkin joined him, looking just as disturbed as James felt.

It took well over half an hour for Sparrow to manage to force the chicks down and by the time he was done he looked about ready to pass out or vomit or both. The shadow monk, however, was applauding like it was the single most amazing thing he'd ever seen, even though he too looked rather sick. "Bravo!" he cried, grinning like an idiot. "That was truly spectacular. I've never seen anything like it." He turned and made a gesture at the Temple, no doubt to someone James couldn't see as the gates began to rise as soon as he did so. "You've earned the right to enter the Temple of Shadows. Well done!"

Sparrow only made an odd, squeaky choked noise in reply.

James crept up to Sparrow's side and waited for him to recover. Once a little colour had returned to his cheeks he took the other man's arm and pulled him along slowly. "I really am sorry that you had to do that, but this is very important. I will pay you." He patted Sparrow's arm lightly.

"Yeh better," Sparrow croaked, pulling a disgusted face and shuddering. "I think one is still twitching..."

They crossed the ruined Cathedral in relative silence after that, the quiet only being broken by the occasional maniacal cackle from behind them. The stairs that led down into the Temple proper seemed to radiate pure malevolence, even more so than the rest of the Cathedral and as they came to a stop at the top of them James had to fight down the urge to turn and run.

"I hope this isn't a mistake..." he said quietly, his grip on Sparrow's arm tightening slightly. He seemed not to have realised that there was no real reason to be holding on to him anymore.

"Only one way to find out, pretty boy," Sparrow replied, just as softly, before he started down the stairs, pulling James after him.

* * *

I love Tarquin the Shadow Worshipper. :D He always makes me giggle.


	14. Chapter 14

Wow. Please, feel free to curse me to high heaven for my failure to update sooner.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

The walk down the stairs into the Temple of Shadows was the single most terrifying experience James had ever had to suffer, up to that point in his life anyway. Every few steps or so he stopped short, some survival instinct trying its very hardest to keep him from going down into the depths of the Cathedral. It was only Sparrow's hand, wrapped punishingly tight around his wrist that kept him moving.

When they finally found the ground at last, disproving James' rapidly growing theory that the stairwell was in fact bottomless, Sparrow released James' wrist and looked around with an expression of curious distaste. James, startled by the sudden lack of contact, blanched and immediately searched for Pumpkin. He latched onto the dog's collar and held on for dear life. Pumpkin snorted at him softly and leaned against his leg, seemingly looking for comfort from him as much as James was.

The entrance was empty and a second smaller portcullis was already drawn up, allowing them access down a tight, high ceilinged corridor that led further into the temple of Shadows. Sparrow didn't seem to think twice before setting off into the dark. James, being far less eager to go in there, lunged forward to grab his arm, but missed, his fingertips only just barely grazing Sparrow's arm. After a moment of fearful fidgeting and sighing he finally hurried after the adventurer, not wanting to be left alone in that place. Pumpkin whined, expressing his own displeasure at the turn of events but followed when James did none-the-less.

Sparrow slowed a little to allow James to catch up with him, and once they were side by side once more, he leaned closer and whispered, "Don't go wanderin' off and don't let any of them touch yeh. Stay within touchin' distance of me so I can grab yeh if I need to. A'right?"

James nodded jerkily and edged right up to Sparrow's side, close enough that their arms almost touched as they walked. Sparrow grunted, pleased with the obedience, then turned his focus back to the situation at hand.

The wheel was the first thing James saw as they stepped out of the corridor and into the large circular room at the centre of the temple. Eight discs decorated the edge of it, each with a deceptively colourful symbol etched into it. James' footsteps hesitated as he stared at it in confusion, but Sparrow's hand snapping back and clipping his wrist got his attention and he tore his gaze away from the sinister looking device.

Edging after Sparrow, James eyed a second Shadow Worshipper who was standing beside the wheel fiddling with his gloves and muttering to himself. Although it seemed to be impossible to tell Shadow Worshipers apart by appearances, James felt rather sure that this one was different. Perhaps it was because he was far more subdued than the excitable one who'd made Sparrow eat live birds.

Sparrow stopped at the edge of a large circular indentation in the floor that James wouldn't have noticed by himself, thanks to the half light in the cavern-like room. Clearing his throat to catch the monk's attention, Sparrow called out, "Oi. We want to talk to someone about one of yer monks."

The Shadow Worshiper lifted his head slowly, one eyebrow rising above the mask on his face. "Do you really? And which monk would that be?"

"My- he's... his name is Edmund Hamilton..." James said softly, edging further behind Sparrow for protection from the malevolent vibes that seemed to radiate from every part of this room. He didn't want to think about what his father had done here. It made him sick to the stomach to even consider it.

"Ah, Edmund," the Shadow Worshiper said, almost fondly. "Yes, I know him. However, I can't give you any information regarding his... situation. You'll have to go higher if you want to discuss it."

Resting his hands on his hips, Sparrow cocked his head. "Higher?"

"You'll need to speak to Cornelius Grim."

James was shaking his head before the first syllable of that name was finished. "I don't want to see Grim," he whispered frantically in Sparrow's ear. "He frightens me. I've changed my mind, let's just go..."

But James' protests were in vain, and he could already see traces of that predatory look about Sparrow once again. "Don't be stupid," he said. "What's an old man gonna do to yeh when I'm here?"

James wanted to point out that Cornelius Grim could probably do quite a lot to him, regardless of Sparrow's presence, but the older boy had already turned back to the Shadow Worshipper, demanding to see this Grim bloke.

"Cornelius Grim is a very busy man, you understand," the Shadow Worshipper said, turning his attention to his nails and examining them casually. "I _suppose_ I could arrange a meeting – he is here after all – but it would cost you..."

Almost immediately Sparrow's expression turned bitter with distaste. "An' what would it cost us?"

The Shadow Worshiper was menacingly quiet for a long moment, seizing them both up. Just as James' nerve was about to break, however, he spoke up. "You wouldn't happen to have any food on your person, would you?" the monk asked. "Only, I've been working the wheel since this morning, and I forgot to bring the packed lunch my wife put up for me. She gets ever so unhappy if I don't eat properly."

James blinked in surprise and glanced at Sparrow, who looked just as alarmed at the request as he felt. It was safe to say that neither of them had expected something quite so... easy. "We have an apple?" Sparrow replied, shaking his head slightly, like he couldn't believe he was going along with this. "...Will that do yeh?"

"Yes, yes, that will do just fine," The Shadow Worshiper replied, smiling as he strode around the perimeter of the circular indentation. James still didn't know what it was, and had no desire to find out. Sparrow reached into his pack and drew out one of the apples, handing it over to the Shadow Worshiper who immediately secreted it away in his robes. "Thank you very much."

"And what about our meetin'?" Sparrow pressed. He had no intention of letting the Shadow Worshiper just forget about his part of the bargain.

The monk blinked. "Hm? Oh, yes. Of course. This way please." He turned on his heel and approached a large portcullis directly to the left of the corridor Sparrow and James arrived through. Sparrow followed him immediately, but James and Pumpkin hung back, as usual. Glancing back at them, Sparrow gestured for them to follow and after a slight hesitation, Pumpkin did as he was told. James was not so eager to obey, but it didn't take him long to decide he didn't want to stay there by himself and he hurried after the other two.

Reaching behind a large black banner with a peculiar red symbol emblazoned on it, the Shadow Worshiper pulled something, a lever James assumed, and the chamber was suddenly filled with the clunking metallic sounds of metal gears grinding against one another. The portcullis began to rise and the Shadow Worshiper stepped back, gesturing down a small flight of stairs. James peeked around Sparrow and down into the room below. He could see a few desks, each with a monk sat behind it. Desks were far less threatening than he'd been expecting, and he relaxed a little.

"Just head down there and I'm sure Cornelius will be happy to discuss Edmund's case with you," the monk said, before turning and returning to his place in front of the wheel. "Good luck."

"We'll need more than luck," James muttered under his breath, only just loud enough for Sparrow to hear. He snorted in response before setting off down the short flight of steps, Pumpkin heeling without prompting this time. James followed too, at a slower pace, trying not to let his imagination get carried away with what could happen to them if this went wrong.

As they stepped into the room, a strange white mist wrapping itself around their legs as they walked, James noted that there was in fact a forth desk, this one on a raised platform above the other three. And behind this desk sat the foreboding form of Cornelius Grim.

The other Shadow Worshipers looked up from the books they were writing in as Sparrow came to a stop in front of them. James edged behind him, peering over his shoulder in the fashion that was rapidly become common place for him. He jumped slightly when Sparrow reached back and gave his hip a quick reassuring pat, and almost smiled at the gesture, before realising that was entirely too much gratitude for something so small.

"Yer Grim, I take it?" Sparrow said, nodding at the man in question. Grim didn't look up straight away, instead finishing the line he was writing in his ledger first. Once he was done, he placed the quill into the ink well carefully and clasped his hands in front of him on the desk.

"Who, pray tell, is asking?"

Sparrow paused, glancing back at James. "Well, go on then," he muttered. "Ask 'im."

James just stared at Sparrow in shock, his gaze twitching between Sparrow and Grim before he shook his head jerkily. Sparrow sighed and turned around, putting a hand on James' shoulder and dragging him to stand in front of him. He kept his grip on James to stop the younger boy from attempting to hide again.

Grim arched an eyebrow curiously at James. "Ah, I know you from somewhere, don't I, boy." It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement. James attempted to answer with a simple yes, but all that came out was a strangled squeak. The other Shadow Worshipers sniggered amongst themselves, but Grim's expression didn't change from its mildly curious look. "You're Hamilton's boy, aren't you?" he said after a moment. James, having learnt his lesson, just nodded this time. "Well, this is the first time a Hamilton has been within these walls for weeks now. Your father has been avoiding us, I fear. What brings you here, boy?"

Grasping for words, James opened his mouth to reply, but still nothing came out. His mind was completely blank when face to face with Grim down here. He had thought the man frightening in the safety of his own sunlit home. Down here, beneath the earth in the darkness however... Those pale, bloodshot eyes of Grim's reminded him of the Shadows in the stories his mother used to tell him.

"He wants to know what yer so pissed at his dad about," Sparrow finally said, stepping in for James yet again.

For the first time a small smile graced Grim's lips and he glanced down at the book in front of him. "How fortuitous that you stopped by when you did. We were just in the process of bringing the accounts up to date." James frowned, confused as to what that had to do with anything, until he remembered what Sparrow had said about his father's situation. _Debt_. Of course.

"Your father..." Grim began, as he stopped at what was apparently the page detailing his father's debt, "...currently owes the Temple in excess of four hundred thousand gold pieces."

"He's a terrible poker player, but just never knows when to stop," one of the other Shadow Worshipers muttered, grinning wickedly.

James' mind, which had already been reeling from fear, shut down completely then. He couldn't think about it. He could _not_ think about it. But how could he not think about it when what he'd essentially just received was the death sentence for the life he had for so long taken for granted?

His father would never be able to pay that debt off. At most they made perhaps fifty thousand a year, and what they didn't spend on food and other necessities was wasted on frivolities and petty luxuries. The last time James had checked, the bank had only had twenty thousand, at most, in it.

They were, in short, completely buggered.

His hand rose to his mouth, and then higher to his forehead. He felt dizzy with shock and he staggered backwards against Sparrow's chest as he struggled to work this horrifying new revelation through his mind. Sparrow's grip on his shoulder tightened slightly and he slowly came back to his senses. He looked up at Grim, who merely stared back at him with those soulless eyes of his, and in that moment knew there would be no reasoning with this man.

Slipping out of Sparrow's grasp, he turned and hurriedly left the room, climbing the stairs as fast as he was capable. Behind him he heard Sparrow's footsteps and the click of Pumpkin's claws. Those sounds did not really register in his mind, however, as one question was completely monopolising his thoughts.

If they could not pay off the debt, what would the Temple of Shadows take as collateral?

* * *

Once again, sorry for the stupidly long wait. D:


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

James was silent as Sparrow led him out of the Temple of Shadows and up to the inn at the top of a small hill in Rookridge. They passed a small, makeshift camp by the coach house where the workmen were sleeping while they repaired the bridge. He vaguely noted that it was still nowhere near usable and wondered to himself exactly how Sparrow intended to get them back to Bowerstone.

The inn, which Sparrow told him was called the Lucky Heather tavern, though he wasn't really listening, had been empty and rather ramshackle when they'd first passed through on their way to Oakfield. James supposed the bandits were to blame for that. It didn't look to be in much better shape now, either, but the soft, warm light from the fireplace shining out of the windows made it a welcome sight in a desolate place like Rookridge.

Shuffling in behind Sparrow, James hovered by the door with Pumpkin while Sparrow went about bartering for a room with the tavern owner. James' gaze drifted across one man, sitting in an upraised area to his right. If James thought correctly and he was fairly sure he did, the man was a Games Master. He wondered just how many people were in debt to him and just how much better his family's situation would be if his father had had the good sense to get into debt with a fairly harmless man like that, instead of a cult of petty murderers.

"Oi," Sparrow said, and James turned to him, his expression mildly alarmed by the somewhat softer tone Sparrow used. He did hope that the adventurer wasn't feeling _sorry_ for him. That would just be an added insult to an already grave injury. "There's a room upstairs. Yeh should get some sleep."

Sparrow started up the stairs and James followed quietly. Pumpkin, unsurprisingly, followed too, and James thought he heard the barman mumbling something about filthy mutts, but the man obviously had the sense not to complain. James doubted Sparrow would appreciate having to leave his dog outside in the rain for however long they were here.

The room was on the first narrow landing and Sparrow stood to the side to allow James to enter first. Stepping inside, James was disappointed to see only one double bed, a dresser and a chair. If he had to put up with Sparrow's lewd suggestions again right now-

"Take the bed," Sparrow said, easing past James and plopping down onto the chair. "Yeh'll need the rest if yeh gonna get back to Bowerstone in one piece."

"What about you?" James replied, uncertainly. "You need to sleep too."

Sparrow smirked a little and shrugged. "I lived most of my life in what was basically a cramped wooden box. I'm used to bein' uncomfortable. The chair'll do me fine."

James frowned a little, still not convinced, but he was tired and distressed enough that after a moment he decided not to complain. Toeing off his shoes and shrugging off his coat, he pulled back the thick sheets and slid underneath. As he snuggled into the pillow, pulling the sheets up around his shoulders, he closed his eyes and said. "Thank you." Sparrow made a small curious noise at that, but James refused to elaborate. The general thanks was more than Sparrow deserved in his opinion but... perhaps he did deserve at least a _little_ gratitude.

"Time to wake up, Pumpkin."

Curled up tightly beneath the blankets, James grunted, drawing his knees higher up and ducking his head a little. Something was touching his shoulder, shaking him gently, but the sensation wasn't intrusive enough to convince him to open his eyes. In his foggy, mostly unconscious state he heard a sigh, before he was pushed onto his back and the slight weight on his shoulder was removed. However, before he could doze off completely once more, something patted his stomach and before he could even begin to wonder as to what it might be, something heavy leapt onto him with a grunt.

All of the air was knocked out of him and he awoke in a most unpleasant fashion, flailing around beneath whatever it was that was snorting and digging it's bony elbows into his gut. He blinked fast, trying to clear his vision, and when he could finally see properly again, he came face to face with Pumpkin. The dog was panting right in his face, evidently quite happy with where he was sitting now.

Squirming out from beneath the dog a little so that he could breathe, James looked up and fixed his gaze on Sparrow. The young adventurer was sitting on the chair in the corner of the room again, looking quite amused by his incredibly obnoxious wake up call. "Very funny," James muttered, dragging himself the rest of the way out from beneath Pumpkin and turning to the side, slipping his feet over the edge of the bed.

"Well, if yeh'd woken up when I was callin' yeh..." Sparrow said, giving a one shouldered shrug, before leaning forward and picking up his pack. James watched him, rubbing one eye and trying not to look too grumpy. After a moment of raking around in the pack, Sparrow surfaced with the remaining apple and what was left of the cheese. He made a motion as though he was about to toss them to James, but after one look at the younger man's sleepy eyed stare, he stood up and handed them over instead.

"Aren't you going to have anything?" James asked as he peered at the apple sceptically for a moment. Sparrow just shook his head.

"Nah. I'm still full from eatin' those birds," he said. The corner of his mouth twitched downwards. Evidently he was still feeling a bit queasy. James gave a little nod and after a moment deemed the apple safe to eat, taking a small bite and chewing it forlornly. Sparrow watched him for a few moments, a small frown marring his expression, but after James had finished his third bite, he spoke up. "What yeh gonna do now then?"

James paused halfway to taking another bite and glanced over at Sparrow. His usual haughty, snobbish expression had long since given way to a far more vulnerable one. For the first time since they'd met, he actually looked like a sixteen year old boy – not a stuck up socialite. Lowering the apple to his lap, he looked down at the ground and gave a helpless little shrug. "I don't know," he admitted quietly. "We don't have that much money, and even if father sold the deeds to all of the houses he rents, we'd still not have nearly enough." He swallowed, staring down at the apple cradled in his palms. "I supposed our best option is going to the guards- well. That's my best option. Mine and my mother's. My father would probably be arrested and put on trial for being a member of the Shadow cult, so really, either way he's not getting out of this unscathed."

Pausing and shaking his head, he looked away at the wall opposite him. "But... even if we do go to the guards, it's the _Temple_ of _Shadows_, and the guards aren't exactly known for their competence. I doubt my family is ever going to be safe again." He gritted his teeth before sighing miserably. "But this isn't your problem."

"Guess not," Sparrow agreed. The frown was still in place but it had relaxed a little.

They sat in an uncomfortable silence while James finished the apple and once he was done with that, Sparrow stood up and moved out onto the landing. James watched him curiously. "We should head out again now," Sparrow said when he stepped back inside. "It's light out, so if yeh want to get home by this evenin', we better be makin' tracks. Yeh can eat the cheese on the way."

James nodded and stood up, pulling his shoes and jacket back on and stuffing the handkerchief containing the cheese into his pocket. Nodding to let Sparrow know he was ready, they set out once again. This time, however, instead of going downstairs and leaving the way they had came, Sparrow led James and Pumpkin out onto a balcony at the back of the inn.

They left Rookridge via an the abandoned railway tracks, passing through the now abandoned bandit camp. The place made James extremely skittish, but Sparrow moved through the camp with the confidence of the man who had emptied it of its inhabitants, and so James felt just a touch more comfortable following him. They spent the better part of the journey walking in silence, communicating mostly through grunts, gestures and clipped, one word answers and when Bowerstone finally came into view, James sighed in relief, happy to be home.

As they approached the bridge that led into Old Town, however, Sparrow fell to a stop. James' steps faltered and he stopped too, staring at Sparrow in confusion. "What's the matter with you?" he asked, more out of obligation than any real sense of curiosity. He just wanted to go home.

Sparrow shook his head, eyeing the archway into the city – or rather, the guard standing just outside of the archway. "I've gotta go back to Oakfield. Still got business there," he explained, somewhat distantly, "I reckon yeh can find yer way home from here, right?"

James hesitated, fidgeting uncertainly, but after a moment he nodded. "Yes, I suppose I can," he said. "Thank you for bringing me home." Sparrow snorted softly, his usual look of vague amusement still present, but muted by a faint hint of anxiety flickering in his eyes.

"Yeah, whatever. Look after yerself, Pumpkin," and on that note, Sparrow turned and started back the way he came, the dog close on his heels as always. James was too tired, and too concerned by his father's problems and the sudden change in Sparrow's attitude, to even bother correcting him.

* * *

...

My only excuse is that falling in love is a terrible cause of severe procrastination. Please don't stone me.

On another note, thank you to En Requiem for the kindly worded email. C: If I hadn't been in such a terrible state of writer's block at the time I received it, I'm sure I would have finished this (pitifully short) chapter a while ago.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

James wasn't far from home when he realised something was wrong.

Screams and crashes and the sound of things breaking was rather usual around the taverns and the less classy areas of Bowerstone, but such racket was completely out of place in the otherwise peaceful district James and his family lived in. He wasn't the only one who was unsettled by it either. As he trotted through the streets towards home he passed countless people standing on their doorsteps and in their gardens, peering around for the source of the disturbance and discussing with their neighbours all the possible causes of such commotion.

James didn't stop to chat though, even when a few of the younger by-standers recognised him and gestured for him to join them. He had his own problems to deal with and he certainly wasn't interested in some brawl, even if such a thing was hugely out of place and therefore automatically fascinating to everyone else.

However, as he approached his own house, a creeping feeling of dread prickled across his skin. The closer he got to home, the more animated people became and as he turned the corner, passing a group of outright panicking people, he realised why.

This commotion most definitely _was_ his problem. Because the source of it was his very own.

He froze on the corner of the street, staring at his house and the dark shapes that rushed about in front of the window. As he watched, a dining chair was launched out of the front window and a group of men who had probably fancied themselves as brave enough to venture closer to the house scattered away from it, yelping.

It was then that James recognised the screaming as his mother.

A sensation like a heavy, hot stone dropping into his belly made him sway, dizzy with fear as he realised his parents were in there with whoever or whatever it was destroying their home. Something akin to bravery made him lurch forward and he dashed across the cobblestone street and into the garden. The front door was hanging off its hinges, but as James leapt up into the doorway, he was accosted by a sight he simpley wasn't capable of comprehending.

The people attacking his parents were not human.

They were barely even people. They had the rudimentary form of people, yes, but they were slender, unnaturally so, and pure black from head to foot. They had no distinguishable features, bar piercing red eyes. Arching black vortexes leapt from the ground around their feet, and it such a tight space, with so many of them, it was next to impossible to see the floor.

James took this in quickly, before retreating. He couldn't fight them. He wasn't Sparrow. Instead, panting with fear, he turned on his heel and rushed towards a group of approaching guards. He wondered why they hadn't been there earlier, but as he approached them, the stench of alcohol hit him and he drew his own conclusions.

"Please, my parents are in there!" he cried, choosing to ignore any inebriation. They were the only hope he had of saving his family. "You have to help them, please!"

"We'll do what we can," the guard captain said, pushing James to the side a little more roughly than he'd probably intended. James stumbled back, then dropped into a crouch in the middle of the street, his hands clenched in front of his chest as he watched the guards charge into the house.

He didn't watched the battle. As soon as blades started flashing, he ducked his head, hiding his face against his knees. This couldn't happen. Not now. He knew what was wrong, he could help now. Maybe. As long as his parents were alright they'd be able to sort everything out.

They just needed to be alright.

The sound of his mother crying suddenly became clearer and louder, and James's head snapped up just in time to see a guard pulling her outside and away from the dangers in the house. James's breath caught before he lunged back to his feet and dashed across the space between them, grabbing his mothers hands and pulling her back, away from the house.

"Edmund!" she wailed, resisting James and attempting to return.

"Mother, please..." James whispered, tugging on her hands harder. The sound of his voice caught her attention, and she snapped back to focus on him, her eyes widening when she realised he wasn't just some concerned or nosey neighbour. She inhaled a shaky gasp, then pulled James to her, clinging to him desperately. James let her for a few moments, before he pulled away, dragging her to a safe distance from the house.

The battle didn't continue much longer after that. The guards slowly began to gain an edge over the shadows. James and Laura huddled together, clutching one another's hands as they waited for a chance to return and discover Edmund's fate. Laura mumbled to herself quietly, "He'll be fine... he'll be fine..." But James didn't believe that. Not if these shadows had been sent by Grim.

Finally the last shadow fell, and the guards began to filter out, helping there injured. One remained inside and James suspected he knew why. However, as he and Laura started forward, she suddenly lurched to a halt with a cry of pain. James skidded to a stop beside her and turned to look at her properly. It was only then that he noticed the blood staining her dress.

"You're hurt," he said, gripping her arms to hold her up. Laura shook her head, trying to push past him, but he held her back. "Mother, you need to see a doctor."

"I'm fine," she hissed, her face twitching with the effort of holding back a grimace. "Let me see my husband."

A guard approached, taking a hold of Laura. "You really do need someone to look at that, ma'am," he said, giving James a meaningful glance. "Come with me," Laura, too small to fight against the guard, was unwillingly ushered away from the house. As he urged her away, the guard nodded at the house, then looked directly at James. _You should go in_, his expression said.

James did just that. He turned on his heel and dashed up to the house, not bothering to stop in the doorway this time. In his hurry, he almost tripped over the guard that remained in there - and subsequently the close to lifeless body of his father. The guard looked up at him, his expression turning grim at the sight of whatever emotions were tearing across James's face, before he stood up and quietly moved to the doorway to keep anyone else from entering. James didn't pay him any heed. Instead he sank to his knees beside his father, carefully gathering him into his arms.

"Daddy?" he asked, giving Edmund a terrified little shake. "Wake up please..?" He could feel something hot and sticky soaking into his clothes, but he tried not to think about it.

Edmund's eyes fluttered weakly, but it took him a few moments to focus on James and his eyes were already starting to glaze. "I'm sorry," he said, his words slurring. "This was... my fault..."

James couldn't deny thay, as much as he wanted to. He just give a stiff little nod. The movement shook free some tears that had been clinging to his jaw. He hadn't realised he was crying. "I know. I know everything. About Grim and the debt."

"I'm... sorry," Edmund said again, his eyes flickering, threatening to close. "Laura..."

"She's fine." James took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly to try and calm himself. He knew what was happening, and he knew what it would lead to. As he looked down at his dying father, however, his fear overwhelmed his greif. "Father, I don't know what to do."

Edmund managed a small, faint smirk. It was bitter and possibly the least happy expression James at ever laid eyes upon. "Neither did I," Edmund said, breathlessly. There was a kind of wet quality to his voice, and when he coughed blood spattered against James's shirt. "Promise... promise me something..."

"...What?"

Reaching up, Edmund gripped a handful of James's shirt, smearing the blood spatters. With strength he had left, Edmund pulled James closer. "Don't... don't let that... bastard Grim do this... do this to you too." He coughed again and James winced as the blood hit his neck and cheek this time. "Promise."

He nodded jerkily, forcing himself to meet his father's eyes. "I promise, father."

Edmund seemed satisified with this and he smiled, just a little, but didn't speak again before his eyes slid shut. James stared at him, clutching his father's body as the last vestiges of his father's life ebbed away, leaving him with the burden of Grim's ire.

He swore he felt the weight settle on his shoulders. Or maybe that was just the hands of the shadow Grim would send to kill him, just waiting for its orders.

* * *

I'm not even going to bother with excuses. We all know I'm flaky now. Just know that I still love this story and if I can get into a regular flow with it, I'll try to finish it if I can.

And thank you to everyone for their continued support and reviews. c:


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Someone else, James wasn't sure who, told his mother that Edmund was dead. He was glad. He didn't have the energy, emotionally or physically, to deal with his mother's grief right then. Instead, he allowed himself to be ushered from place to place by guards and concerned townsfolk, his expression blank and unresponsive.

At some point he and his mother were taken into a neighbour's house. They were given beds, and as James silently crawled under the strange sheets, thoughts of Grim and his father raced through his head. Countless worries battled for his attention, clashing with his mother's never ending wails. He didn't know how he fell asleep that night, though he suspected extreme exhaustion was the only logical explanation.

ooo

When the sun rose the next morning, James's eyes fluttered open in response to the warm, bright light spilling across his face. He winced and buried his face in the pillow, clutching the blanket to his chest. A new day, another step closer to meeting a fate similar to his father's.

He squirmed when his skin started to itch, but after trying to ignore it for a few minutes it became unbearable, and he reluctantly sat up in bed to investigate the cause. When he dropped the blankets into his lap and looked down at himself, his breath caught when he realised he was still wearing the clothes he had been wearing the night before. The itching was being caused by his father's dried blood.

James gulped, fighting down the urge to be sick as reality hit him like a horse kick to the stomach. He scrambled out of bed, grabbing the nearest wall as his head spun. then lurched to the window, fumbling with the latch before throwing it open and drinking in the fresh air like he was suffocating. He slumped against the windowsill for a long while, just breathing in the cold morning air. Eventually his stomach started to settle and the ability to think clearly returned to him.

The first thing he did was tear the bloodied shirt off, not caring that he didn't have anything else to wear. He tossed it at the ground, growing frustrated when the soft material made no noise against the wooden flooring, failing to express his fear and anger at his situation. "It's not fair," he mumbled, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth until the urge to cry passed. He couldn't cry now. That was childish, and his father's stupidity had stolen his right to be a child from him.

That's what he was, after all. A child. Certainly, James liked to pretend he was more mature than he was, going to the tavern with his friends, and flirting with danger - with Sparrow, for example. But he was still only sixteen, and far too young to be facing debt of this magnitude. He wanted to be looked after - for the problems to still only be for his parents to worry over.

Looking over at the bed his mother was occupying, James felt his eyes sting. She was sleeping for now, but when she woke up she'd have no husband, and a son who was facing the possibility of going the same way as his father. She was in no state to take this responsibility from James, and he certainly wasn't prepared to dump it on her anyway.

He huffed out a broken sigh, running a hand back through his tight little blonde curls, before tip-toeing by her and down the stairs. He didn't want to wake her. At least one of them deserved to avoid reality a little longer.

Downstairs, James spotted the person responsible for their lodgings that night. Missus Lily, a nice, elderly lady, looked up from her tea, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "James, dear, I didn't expect you to be up so early." Her gaze dropped from his face to his bare chest. James looked down too and cringed at the blood smears on his skin. "There's a tub out the back if you'd like to wash. I can go fetch some clean clothes for you, if you'd like?"

James swallowed, then gave a small, silent nod. Missus Lily gave him a sad, sympathetic smile before standing up and toddling out of the house to find something for him to wear. James watched her go, then turned on his heel and headed out into the small, dark backyard.

He ignored the tub and instead just turned on the faucet, splashing the cold water onto his chest and wiping the blood away. The frosty cold water made him shiver and the muscles in his chest contracted in painful objection to his behaviour, but he ignored it and continued until he was clean of any blood. When he was done, he gratefully stepped back and turned off the faucet again, giving himself a little shake to rid himself of excess water. It made him think of a dog, and that in turn made him think of his namesake, Pumpkin. A little of the nausea from earlier returned as a sudden desperate craving for Sparrow's company hit him.

Now wasn't the time to be thinking about Sparrow though. Shaking his head, James turned and slunk back into the house. The fire was lit and he gladly approached it, crouching in front of it to warm up after his deep unpleasant bath.

He was only there for a few moments before Missus Lily returned, carrying a bundle of clothes. James recognised them as his own, and realised that his home must have been cleared during the night. Maybe they'd be able to go back that day. He doubted he'd want to.

"I just brought a shirt and some clean trousers for you," Missus Lily said, placing the small pile down on the her dining table. "Let me know if there's anything else you want, alright dear?"

James approached her slowly, and picked up his clothes, clutching them to his chest like a shield. "Just..." he started, wincing at how croaky his voice was, "Just look after my mother, please?"

Missus Lily frowned, but nodded slowly. "Yes, of course dear. Are... you going somewhere?"

Turning back to the stairs, James began heading back up. "Yeah... yeah, I'm gonna go out for a bit. I need to clear my head."

"A walk will probably help with that," Missus Lily said supportively, nodding again. James smiled a little, then continued up the stairs to get changed. He didn't know if a walk really would help, but he didn't want to be around when he mother woke up. He supposed it was selfish of him, but he had his problems and he'd be helping his mother far more by solving them, right?

ooo

Later that day, he padded through the streets, his gaze fixated on the cobblestones beneath his feet. He was aware of people watching him as he passed, no doubt gossipping about what had happened the night before. James paid them no heed, however, too lost in his own thoughts to care about public opinion anymore.

As he entered the town square, desperately digging through everything he knew about Grim and the Temple of Shadows, some familiar voices caught his attention. Raising his head, his gaze landed on a group of young people, all around about his age, and dressed so fancifully that for a moment James wondered if giving them to Grim would be enough to pay off his debt.

Shaking that thought off, James slowly approached his old friends. None of them were facing him, and so none of them saw him coming and their conversation went uninterrupted. As he got closer, however, he quickly realised that if they had been facing him, they would have stopped talking as soon as he came into earshot.

"Well, frankly it doesn't surprise me that old Mr Hamilton died the way he did," one girl said snootily, "We've all heard the rumours about him and the... things he got up to in his spare time."

"You don't think those rumours were true, do you?" another girl asked.

"My father says they were true," a boy, one James had harboured a crush on once upon a time, piped up, "And we've all seen the way James acted when we discussed his father."

The first girl nodded sourly. "He always got so cagey."

"Well, I think it's awful that there's been another murder in town already," the second girl said, shaking her head and ringing her hands. "Do you think they're connected? Maybe that other man was part of the Temple of Shadows too? Or maybe the man who killed him was?"

The boy shrugged. "Could be, I suppose, but I heard they were both rather... low-class. I hear the Temple only accepts patrons with money. Like Edmund Hamilton."

James had had enough of listening to the people he'd once called friends talk about his father like they understood the situation. He didn't care that they were right about Edmund being a Shadow Worshipper, and he didn't care that they were right about the reason he had died. They didn't have the right to talk about his family. Striding forward he barged through the group, startling the girls into squeaking, then spun on his heel to face them.

"My father and the problems he had, the problems that are now mine to bear, are not subject for idle gossip," he spat, glowering at each of them in turn. The girls fidgeted uncomfortably, and the boy folded his arms in an attempt to look defensive, though his expression was still obviously embarrassed at having been caught. "Grow up, all of you."

Turning on his heel, James stalked on, shaking his head in anger and disappointment. He wouldn't be able to rely on his former friends for support anymore. He couldn't rely on his mother. He couldn't rely on anyone. He was completely alone, and he had no idea how he was supposed to save himself from his father's fate.

* * *

Thank you for the reviews. :D It amazes me that people are still reading this after all this time.

Sparrow will return in the next chapter.


	18. Chapter 18

Yeah, I am actually still writing this. Amazing, isn't it. ._.

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

James didn't stop wandering the streets over the next few days, despite all the looks and stage-whispered comments his presence received. Being outside in the fresh air helped him to think. Unfortunately, no matter how clear his mind was, James just didn't have the mental capacity to come up with a solution. He wasn't very smart in that way - with numbers and money. He knew how to spend it on frivolous things but finding a huge amount to pay off a debt was something completely foreign to him.

But he still kept right on thinking about it, hoping the solution would come to him by itself. It didn't, of course, but hoping it would was all that kept James going. As he slunk through the streets a few days after his father's death, however, he received a surprise that could only be described as startlingly pleasant.

He was walking past a seemingly innocent alleyway, when a hand reached out and grabbed his arm, dragging him into the shadows. His mind immediately leapt to the night of his father's murder, and the shadow people that had killed him. A scream for help welled up in his throat, but before he could cry out a hand clamped across his mouth. His scream was reduced to a shrill, muffled whine and as he struggled valiantly he was pulled back against a strong, firm body.

"Settle yerself, Pumpkin," a soothingly familiar voice whispered in his ear.  
James heaved a sigh of relief against Sparrow's palm, before squirming out of the other boy's grip. "What are you playing at?" he snapped, taking a step back and folding his arms. He realised he was trembling from the shock. "You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack."

"Sorry," Sparrow said, shrugging. Pumpkin sat beside his feet, wagging his tail obliviously. "I needed to get yeh back here before anyone saw."

"I don't see why you couldn't have just called to me," James replied, looking away into the shadows with a darkly thoughtful expression. "I thought you were..." He trailed off and glanced at Sparrow. The look the young gypsy gave him told him that Sparrow already knew what James had thought. Something like guilt flickered in his eyes for a moment. James sighed heavily and shook his head. "What do you want?"  
Sparrow was silent for a moment, watching James's face like a hawk watching a rabbit. "The monks up at the Temple of Light... they've been talkin' about what happened here. I wanted to see if yeh were a'right."

James clasped his hands in front of his chest, wringing them anxiously. "I'm fine. I didn't get hurt. My mother did, but she'll be alright, and the guards say we'll be able to move back into our house soon-"

"Yer dad's dead."

Wincing at Sparrow's bluntness, James ducked his head and swallowed a deep breath. Sparrow took the opportunity to continue. "Grim killed him. He's probably not done with yeh yet either. That's the kinda man he is. He's gonna keep comin' after yeh, James."

"Well aren't you just a fountain of good cheer," James hissed, turning away from Sparrow and folding his arms across his chest, like the stance could protect him from Sparrow's words.

"I'm not here to make yeh feel better," Sparrow said. "I came to make sure nothin' happens to yeh."

A terse silence stretched out between them as James fumbled with this news. "I don't understand," he said finally, giving Sparrow a long, measuring look. "Why would you come all the way back here just to protect me or... whatever it is you're doing?"

Sparrow seemed just as puzzled by it as James was and he shrugged slowly. "I dunno." He still wore his usual expression of vaguely-amused-by-everything, but it seemed a little more forced than usual, like he was trying to cover something else up. "There's just somethin' about yeh. Theresa – yeh know, the seer – said somethin' about- what was it... infatuation? Makin' people do stupid things. I dunno. I reckon it boils down to me wantin' to do yeh."

"Do... me?" James repeated, confused. After a few moments it dawned on him. "Wait, no- that's not- hang on a moment, that-" He stopped talking abruptly, sputtering. "Is that what the kissing was all about? Why am I even asking- my father just died and you're-"

Sparrow held up a hand to silence James who fell quiet after a moment and settled for just glaring. "I'm just bein' honest with yeh," he said, shrugging. "Not expectin' anythin'." He looked down at the dog beside him and absent-mindedly ran his hand across the crest of the dog's head. "All I'm sayin' is... I wanna keep yeh safe an'..." He stopped with a frustrated grunt and shook his head. "I dunno. I just- I dunno."

James stared at Sparrow intently, wholly focused on what Sparrow may or may not have been trying to say. It felt good to have a different problem to focus on, especially when the problem wasn't his. "Shall we go somewhere?" he asked finally. Sparrow's shoulders seemed to melt at the sound of his voice and James felt a little thrill of sadistic pleasure when he realised his silence had been making Sparrow anxious. "There are some gardens around here. They'd be a much nicer setting for this kind of conversation than a shadowy alleyway."

"Can't," Sparrow said, shaking his head. "I ain't supposed to be here." James tilted his head quizzically and Sparrow added, "Got into some trouble with the guards last time I was here."

Something about his tone told James he wasn't going to go into details and James didn't have the energy to push it. "A few of my fath- of my family's properties are empty. Their gardens are private and no guards would see us there." He padded past Sparrow, deeper into the alleyway. "There's one nearby and we can get to it through the back lanes. Come on, I really... I don't like the dark very much right now."

Sparrow didn't argue against that and followed silently. James imagined that if he were anyone else, being followed through an alley by Sparrow might have been one of the more terrifying events of his young life. Yet somehow he felt nothing but safe in Sparrow's company.

When they reached the garden James had spoken of, Sparrow clambered over the stone wall first before helping James over as well. In what was either a display of remarkable restraint or perhaps a sign of maturation, James didn't even acknowledge the scuff marks on his trousers.

Pumpkin headed straight for a patch of grass bathed in sunlight and James followed. Sparrow stayed in the shadows a while longer before joining them. He dropped heavily onto the little grassy bank and then James and Pumpkin settled on either side of him. They sat quietly for a few minutes and then James spoke.

"I'm scared, Sparrow," he said, staring blankly at the bed of flowers on the opposite side of the garden. They had wilted from lack of care and James thought it was a rather sad sight. "I feel like everything around me is just... falling to pieces and I'm expected to put it all back together but I can't because I don't understand anything about anything and I'm just- I'm too stupid to fix it and-"

Sparrow's arm curled loosely around his shoulder – an invitation – and James gladly accepted it. He threw himself against Sparrow's chest and clutched at him desperately. When Sparrow tightened his grip, holding James against him like a vice, the rock in James's belly that he hadn't even realised was there fizzled away and was replaced with nothing but warmth. A hiccupped sob escaped James but no tears fell. He suspected he had no tears left to cry anyway.

They sat like that for a long while and it was only the cramping of his muscles from the uncomfortable position that convinced James to let go. He pulled away from Sparrow and ran a hand back through his hair, tousling what had once been perfect little curls. "You're the only thing that hasn't fallen apart yet, Sparrow," he said tiredly. "I just wish I knew you better. It feels like such a bad idea to rely on someone I barely know and yet you're all I have."

"Well..." Sparrow began, "I reckon it's better to have someone yeh don't know, rather than no one at all? Right?"

"That's true, I suppose." James looked down at Sparrow's hand where it rested on the grass between them. He was wearing thick leather gloves. The stitching was shoddy and they were damaged from use, but they looked sturdy and reliable. By contrast, the soft white fabric of James's gloves was flimsy and delicate and utterly worthless for anything other than looks. He pulled off both of his gloves and discarded them, but his hands were just as fragile as the gloves had been. "I need you," he said to Sparrow as he inspected his baby-soft palms. "I can't do this alone and I need you." The conviction in his own voice startled him and he blinked at Sparrow owlishly.

Sparrow lifted a hand and stroked James's hair back from his face. His touch was firm and solid and reassuring and James sighed contentedly, pressing upwards into Sparrow's palm. "I got problems of my own," Sparrow said and James ceased his nuzzling immediately, giving Sparrow an utterly crestfallen look. "But-" Sparrow added, "I... I wanna help yeh, I guess, and even though I know yeh not likely to be givin' me any of what I want, I reckon it'd be pretty shite of me to leave you in the lurch just 'cause of that, yeh know?"

"Any of what you want?" James repeated, frowning. Sparrow gave him a loaded glance and James's face burned when he remembered. "Oh that..."

They sat in silence for a long time as James thought about what Sparrow had said. It would be a lie for James to say he didn't find Sparrow... intriguing. The gypsy boy certainly had a sort of terrible charm to him and though he was awfully uncouth and definitely not the type James should be seen with if he wanted to remain in high standing, James couldn't help the little thrill that shot through him at the idea of Sparrow... wanting him, in that fashion.

His breath faltered as he snuck a glance at Sparrow out of the corner of his eye. Despite his many flirtatious escapades, James had never had the opportunity to be intimate with anyone. Sparrow, who certainly didn't seem the type to pass up an appealing opportunity, would no doubt be receptive if James perhaps wanted to... share a private moment while they were alone and unlikely to be disturbed.  
It would certainly take his mind off Grim for a while.

James licked his suddenly dry lips and reached out to take one of Sparrow hands. His own two hands were tiny in comparison, even after he slipped off Sparrow's bulky glove. He stroked his fingertips along Sparrow's fingers and palms, tracing the calluses and cracked skin. Their hands told such different stories and James wondered to himself what Sparrow's hands would feel like.

Sparrow, who had been silently as James explored, gave a little cough and James jumped, letting Sparrow's hand drop. Sparrow was watching him with a bewildered little twist of a smile and the thought of Sparrow's usual smug smirk made the decision for James.

He launched himself at Sparrow, throwing himself at him with such force that Sparrow fell back onto the grass with a startled yelp. Pumpkin, shocked by the sudden attack, leapt to his feet and started bouncing about, barking uncertainly. Sparrow flapped a hand at him to shut him up but fell limp when James crushed their mouths together.

It wasn't vindictive like their first kiss, or a mocking tease like their second. James planted his hands firmly either side of Sparrow's head and put everything he could into the kiss. James was new to kissing - at least in this fashion - and despite Sparrow's best efforts, it was a messy affair, all teeth and clumsily tangled tongues. Neither of them seemed to care though. Sparrow's hands ventured lower, finding a welcome handhold in the form of James's rear and James dropped to his elbows, weaving his fingers through Sparrow's unkempt hair.

It was easily the most passionately heated moment of James's life, and so he was understandably baffled when Sparrow broke the kiss, easing his hands around to James's chest to push him back a bit. "What's wrong?" he asked, his swollen lips making the words feel clumsy, "I thought you wanted this?"

"And I thought yeh didn't," Sparrow said. "Don't get me wrong, normally I'd have my prick so far up yer arse yeh'd be chokin' on it by now-" James's nose crinkled at the vulgarity, "-But... Dunno. Guess even I know better than to take advantage of someone in yer situation."

James frowned and sat upright, still straddling Sparrow's belly. "But it's not taking advantage- Sparrow, I want-"

Sparrow pushed himself up, forcing James to slip down into Sparrow's lap. A little whine escaped him as Sparrow pulled him in for another kiss, this one slower and much more controlled with Sparrow in the lead. When they broke away again, James felt lightheaded and airy. "Yeah, I know what yeh want," Sparrow said. "And when all this shit's settled down, if yeh still want it, I'll give it to yeh."

Disappointed, but unable to deny that Sparrow had a fair point, James gave a little defeated sigh. "Alright," he said, bumping his forehead against Sparrow's affectionately. "Assuming you're still around then."

"I ain't got any plans to leave."

ooo

They said their goodbyes after that and James headed home, with Pumpkin at his heel. Sparrow had said that the dog would lead James back to him if he ever needed any help and James was glad of the company anyway. Having the dog tripping along at his heels was like having a little part of Sparrow at his side. It was comforting.

It was also fortunate that James had a safety net to fall back on, as something very unpleasant awaited James at home.

* * *

T'was not my plan to have them get this smoochy this early on, but hey, whatever gets me writing. :D


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